There is something in the end there is no avoiding
That is more present than breath, than self, than distraction
More present than this moment? Yes, even that --

Even than all those birds perched high in the Tree of Heaven
That broke into all your wondering -- even than
That huge exotic shrine at the centre of your heart,
Your voice, your whole face turned inward...
Or mine now -- as I cut it back, back
From my thoughts: to my being; then my breath
And then, not even that

And across the gulf of silence from before
Names, images -- before whiteness was even born --
And now, at the heart of emptiness
Where there is no I, nor breathing even
Or only this suspended pause

'There is only Love that made us, only Love'
And you in the vast silence like an ocean without water,
Like rain before rain --
like an unbroken mirror

You in the Womb of Love.