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-blower 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