I finally got it—I see it clear.
I noted the things, both far and near,
All the small troubles that I held dear.
But I got it, in the space of a minute.
So, what is the matter?
What is the trouble within it?
The whole of the matter, the
reason I say,
Is that the matter itself was in
the way.
It was one starry, deep midnight hour,
I woke, held tight in its gentle
power,
At a sudden, soft knock on my
door.
A perfect surprise, but nothing more.
A phantom, a dream, a moment in
flight,
It was gone by the time I sought the light.
As I returned to the comfort of
sleep,
I held the matter; I had it to
keep.
It was nothing, it’s true, but my own soul’s shade.
The quiet reflections that my
shadow had made.
All through the night, it was
there, taking shape,
And in all of these matters, my soul was awake.
I got that matter—the one I had missed,
And I sighed, at long last, by the revelation kissed.
The whole of the matter, the struggle I had,
Was the simple, clean matter of my own soul, unclad.
Moods 14/8/22
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