This poem goes back to 1985, during a period when I experienced a tremendous opening, and poetry poured forth. Unbeknownst to me while I was writing the poems, my mother (who lived across the country) had a terminal illness. I did not learn about her illness until she had died. Naturally this was a great shock. I feel somehow my mother wanted to spare me, and in a way she did, because I doubt the poems would have come as they did if I’d known of her illness. This poem came two days before my mother’s death. I dedicate the poem to her with all my love.

 Not you, not I
 Not the bird, not the sky
 Not the song, not the word
 Not the music that I heard.
 Not the waters, not the light
 Not the feeling of delight
 Not the blue, not the green
 Not the remembrance of the dream.
 It is the silence where the gift is found
 It is the space between my thoughts
 Where the eternal does abound. 

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