Poem 93: Song of The Iron Flute,

I choose you,
and the rock and the stone
for singing the soundless
song of the iron flute
a prayerful song
remotely heard
as the silence
of a blazing red rose
against a thorn black sky
heavy with the pre-storm quiet
where falcon hunt falcon
by the dark clouds rim-light
or silent as the deep night
of a windless desert
or a winters eternity
of frozen rivers,
one vast claw of ice
cold deathly clear
and perfect
as the glacial mountain
strong and unbound all these
beloved prints of silence
with no shape of sound
to press their passing
upon the echo
of the priestly bone
(Christ can you hear it)
and choose this one,
this rock,
this stone for singing
the soundless song
of the iron flute
to drown the bones rattle
for my shining leaves
and silver streams
are only dreams warmly sleeping
softly too loud to hear
and follow a mind too loud
and lost to hear and choose.