Youth

This morning eye
Sees with feeling,
Like reaching in a dream.
Fingers light touch
Against wall,
Against pictures and windows.

If behind the pane,
This thrill would sing,
Bend harmonies
And hold these rhythms,
Then a shattered room
Would find the wind.

As the unseen sun fills the east,
Clouds below of shimmering copper,
Above the burning golden snows,
The gaping sky
Between colliding horizons
Would consume this passion.

Like a bow plucked and taut,
Arrow to the ear,
Every waiting fiber whispers
Its secret tension;
A ready world, quivered wishes,
Soft feather on skin.

The eyes turn,
As if they, too, would listen,
Like the tops of
Trees and mountains,
Like the white-crested waves
Of seas and fields.

A world of craned necks
Now bends
Joyful toward the dawn,
Listening for those echoes
Of an old song.

- Ambikananda, Summer Solstice, 2015