We sat, in end of day repose
To speak of evenings drawing cold
And grass with moisture in its folds
And share our wine with crows
One, bolder than the rest
Climbed high, as if to rise and reach
A silver phantom, caught in sun’s
Descending rays out of the west
Within the moment’s crest and hiss
What thoughts, I wondered, passed
As pictures, sounds and smells
Upon the waning summer’s kiss?
©Stephen Tanham, 2020
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness.