the archway

leads through.
a hoop in air,
curved to catch

the empty space,
the bird’s
dipped wing

and, bowed,
the traveller

entering.

the path

curves like a river
but you
are what moves

slow footsteps flowing
through light
and time

forwards
and backwards
into wildness.

the journey

takes you past
the blood-song
of the spider

the honeyed
dream-drone
of the bee

and other
slender tangles
of sound

in tongues
you cannot utter

where your name
is not known.

the entrance

brings you
quietly
under cover,

making the crossing
to a crib of silences

where your senses
feeler outwards
over blind ground

and the earthworm
and the beetle

are your only guides.

the return

is a step off
into otherness,

a slow drift
and fall
into the early world,

the before-childhood glimpse
from under the stone

the simple eye,
the happy,
hungry mouth,

the first breath
and bite

of bright air.