The faces and names of this life’s time-tale:
are just this season’s flowers.
Their “he did”s, and “she did”s:
impersonal toing and froing in the wind.
The unseen ground,
beneath the field of display,
from which the dances of all these lives and deaths arises:
beyond all seasons, beyond all time,
unknowable by face nor name,
not counted by an endless chain of flowers,
is the one presence within and through them all.