this is the thing you see
this is the place where we are
do you feel the light soft through stained glass
taste the scent of autumn
you keep looking away
or you think so

a scarlet bit of oak is diving and swooping
wouldn't it be strange
if it comes to rest in the restful place
where on the cool quiet thundering centuries of stone
your forehead is resting
press for the answers because you know
you aren't satisfied yet

silence can only say so much
you think and you may be right
you never ever know
stillness can only do so much

the light moves
mutable on the stones with the great restless oaks outside
outside is yes pure hypothesis
wouldn't it be perfect if anything
is perfect anymore

are you anymore turning about
part with the cool centuries
they will always be here and with you
look up and find the sky
infer the sky just try it
deduce the night sky dare you
float in the polyphony
nothing is so untouched as you think it
and nothing has been touched

assume the sky
assume the existence of cool nights with fire and falling leaves
assume the intensity of the pure pure temporal
soar on the silver golden wind of the polyphony

do you think that you can stop where you stay
no lack of motion will do it

stones and light say good-day, good-night
in a thousand and one primeval tongues

ten thousand things await
and it is always so much better
all things, all things
and greet the day and the night
and find it good.

J. Horne