Autumn rushes nearer, each
breath of wind cooler than the last.
Is that His voice, whispering in the breeze?
Is that His call, my Beloved, my Lord?
Is that –
Birds chase each other overhead,
dancing against the clouded sky.
Is that His face, formed of
formless grey? Is He –
Hours may pass like minutes,
or minutes like hours.
Time may lose its meaning
as I gaze at His face, mind racing.
Can You hear me? Are You there?
Do You –
Cease your chatter, quiet your mind.
You do not need to be quick –
I will teach you to be still.
Listen, and you will learn.
It feels a lot like this.