[At the coinciding point of the years]

At the coinciding point of the years

Where minutes, hours, and days run not to time

But to a vivid centre—

There stands a tree

Radiant in its being.

They say its name is ONCE and HEREAFTER

WAS, IS, and SHALL BE EVERMORE

That it stands in the bareness of eternity

At the austere edge of the real

And in the lengthening shadow of the unknown.

They say that each creature must find its way to this tree

And that each life is a movement towards contemplation

Of its abounding moment

And that the creature, transfixed by its time-blown boughs,

Will find itself returned to the perfect lightness of itself

And to the infinity of the other

As the tree drops its leaves like yellow coin:

 

 

 

 

           O