Vol. 2. / 114.) From The Light Of Falling Flowers . . .

From the light of falling flowers in crystal skies

From the stream once through the gate of meeting

The well within the ways of love’s own labyrinth

And the mystery that clouds the opening of truth

And there, in the centre of the maze, the fountain

And an angel pouring water into its silvery pool

And the cipher is made plain and again and again

Over and over the inner tale is told and truly shown

And no one wants to know, and no one really cares

And all is wrapped again in tiny slants and circuits

Hid, in certain pieces, in silken cloths of lovely words

Scattered here, in hopes of being found and understood

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