Heuristic

In the jungles of the heart
Wild vines fall like veins
And the drip-drip rainfall
Runs like a song of its own singing.

Storm clouds gather on the horizon
And learn the distance
From mountain to sea.

Rivers come from such a sky
Through the hollow hillside
And the slack mossed bank.

Oceans rise upon a bed of grit
The worn teachings of weather
Settle into some bedrock:
The sediment of truth.

In the sea, sailors
Try the wind for patience,
Holding a cold finger for direction,
Testing the buoyancy of waves.

The longer roads of water,
Fish-scent trails among weed beds
Lead us home from deep to shallow.

Upstream, where only stone
Is washed by passage
Landscape learns to be still.

In the deserts of our hands
Sand grains grind away time
Until knowledge, shaped by trying,
Fits us to be wise.

 

the counterpoint of knowing

 

Initialising

© Brian Hiill 2011