The distant shores of silence begin
at the door. You cannot fly there
like a bird. You must stop, look deeper, still deeper,
until nothing deflects the soul
from the deepmost deep.

No greenery can now satisfy your sight:
the captive eyes will not come home.
And you thought life would hide you from
the other Life that overhangs the depths.

You must know—there is no return
from this flow, this embrace within the mysterious
beauty of Eternity.
Only endure, endure, do not interrupt
the flight of shadows—only endure
clear and simple—more and more.

He is your Friend. Your memory always meanders
back to that morning in winter.
For many years you believed, knew for certain
and still you are lost in wonder.

Bent over a lamp, a sheaf of light in a knot
over your head. You look up no more,
not knowing—is he out there, or
here in the depth of closed eyes?

As long as you receive the sea,
those waving circles of the sea
into your open eyes,
you feel all depth, every frontier
drowning in you.

The element of light is not like this.
The sea soon hides you, melts
into the silent deep.
Then the light breaks, a vertical shaft of reflection
torn from each wave as it trails.
Slowly the sea ends: brightness flows in.

And then, visible from everywhere
in mirrors far and near,
you see your own shadow.
In this Light, how can you hide?
You are not transparent enough
while brightness breathes from every side.

Love explained all for me,
all was resolved by love,
so this love I adore
wherever it may be.

I am open space for a placid tide
where no wave roars, clutching at rainbow branches.
Now a soothing wave uncovers light in the deep
and breathes light onto unsilvered leaves.

For long
Someone was leaning over me—
on the line of my eyebrows
his shadow had no weight.
Like a light filled with green,
like green with no shade,
an ineffable green that rests
on drops of blood.

That leaning gesture, both cool and hot,
slides into me, yet stays overhead,
it passes close by, yet turns to faith
and fullness.
That gesture, both cool and hot,
a silent reciprocity.

The Lord taking root in the heart is a flower
that longs for the warmth of the sun,
so flood in light from the day’s inconceivable depths
and lean upon my shore.

Do not bum too close to heaven,
nor burn too far.
You should remember, heart, that gaze
in which all eternity
awaits you, dazed.

What does it mean that I see that much
in seeing nothing?
When the last bird sinks below the horizon,
and the wave hides it in its glass,
still lower I fall, plunging with the bird
into the tide of cool glass.

The more I strain my sight, the less I see.
Water bends over the sun to bring the reflection nearer,
the farther the shadow divides
the water from the sun,
the farther it divides the sun from my life.

Slowly I take away from words
their brightness, I round up thoughts
like shadows in herds.
Slowly I infuse all with the nothingness
that waits for the day of creation—

So I can open up space
for your outstretched hands,
so that eternity can come closer
to receive your breath.

For this moment of strange death
swept by vast tides of eternity,
for the touch of the distant heat
that makes the garden hold its breath—The moment mingles
....with eternity,
the drop embraces the ocean,
and the sun’s stillness in slow motion
falls into this flooded depth.

I adore you, fragrant hay, because in you
no pride ripens as in ears of corn;
I adore you, fragrant hay, because you cuddled
a barefoot baby, manger-born.

I adore you, rough wood, because I find
no complaint in your fallen leaves;
I adore you, rough wood: you covered His shoulders
with blood-drenched twigs.

God has come as far as that,
stopped but a step from nothingness,
so near our eyes.
It seemed to simple hearts,
to open hearts it seemed
that He was lost amidst the ears of corn.

And when the starved disciples husked the grains of wheat,
He waded deeper into the field.
Learn from me, my dear ones, how to hide,
for where I am hidden I abide.

God and the universe dwelt at the heart,
but the universe was losing light,
slowly becoming the song of His Reason,
the lowest planet.

I bring you good news of great wonder, Hellenic masters:
it is pointless to watch over existence
which slips out of our hands,
for there is a Beauty more real
concealed in the living blood.

Son, you will be gone. Before rime began
I saw in your depth
everything that was to be.
Father, love must surge with glory.

Son, look at the swelling ears of corn
on the verge of your luminosity;
one day they will take it from you
when I give your light to the earth.

Look, Father, my eyes
are near to my love,
gazing eternally
at this day bursting with green.

They will take your hands
away from my arms—Son, can you see
this annihilation—when the day comes
I will give your bright light
to the corn on the swelling earth.

Father, my hands lost from your arms
I will weld to a tree
stripped of its green,
and with the pale light of wheat
fill this great brightness
that you change into ears of corn.

When you go, my Son—eternal Love,
who will first hold you in his closest current?

Standing before You, looking with eyes
in which the routes of stars converge.
Eyes unaware of Him who is in you,
diminishing the immeasurable brightness
in Himself and the stars.

To know even less, to believe even more:
eyelids slowly closing in the trembling light,
then with the strength of sight
push back the stars’ tide, the shore
over which the day hangs.

I often think of that day of vision:
it will be filled with amazement
at the Simplicity
that can hold the world.
And the world dwells in it, untouched
until now, and beyond.

Take me to Ephraim, Master, let me stay with you there
where the distant shores of silence fall
on the wings of birds,
as the greenness, as the full wave falls
undisturbed by the touch of the oar,
as wide rings spread on the water
not startled by the shadow of fear.

I thank you for giving the soul a place
far removed from the din and clamor,
where your friend is a strange poverty.
You, Immeasurable, take but a little cell,
you love places uninhabited and empty.