The Clean Cobweb
I feel you here now.
Like the cobweb upon the iron gate.
The weave of your web,
A silken form holding in the gentle breeze.
Your web it holds the evening raindrops.
And in the morning light, shines.
Glorious golden colours within the water-droplets.
I pulsate with the freshness of the morning air,
I feel the rhythm of this new day,
My heart beats strong.
I live beyond hope,
To the knowing that already is.
The place where silken form is made.
With an effortless peace,
I, the web vibrate in the morning air,
Noticed, and now not the nothingness I was at the break of dawn.
(Sunday 8 July 2007, Bolton, UK)