Perfect Synchronicity

He thought back to the hour at dusk 

when a bird’s call sounded outside him

and deep within him in perfect synchronicity,

so that it did not break off,  

at his body’s boundary, 

but merged both sides into an unbroken space,

mysteriously sheltered, a single region 

of purest, deepest consciousness.  

With that, he closed his eyes, 

so as not to be dissuaded

of so unique an experience

by the external contour of his body, 

and the infinite 

passed over into him from all sides 

that he could believe he felt 

within himself

the gentle composure of the celestial stars 

which one by one had been appearing.  

Leaning against a fence, 

he would grow aware of the star-filled sky

through the branches of a tall tree, 

and how then the universe would look back at him, 

face to face.

Or how, if he but submitted to it long enough, 

it would be absorbed so perfectly 

in the clear solution of his heart.  

Then the magic of creation 

would be dispersed 

throughout his whole being.