the pale full moon coats this December night in wet-silver,
and cool air strikes a note on ancient stones.
a bass clef rumbles, a deep cry beneath the world,
as the stars burn, and matter moves in time.
and I see crystal arbor lockets on tomorrow’s branches,
waiting in the dark-still to announce the Face of Mystery.
© Brother Anton and The Harried Mystic, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.
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