Sounding Pulses
Thomas Merton Brightman
All rights reserved

The
Pulses of
Hawk wing
Arrive at ear

Much as seasons
Appear each year
Emergence
Scarcely perceptible

Just as pulses
Of glass blowing breath
Linger within creations
Waiting fingertips

Each
Pulse
Tendering
Sacred signature

The
Trace
Of each
Made Visible

If
We but stop the blur
If
We but take time

To feel
Pulses In the wind
All Our Relations
Discernible