Richard Wehrman - What wants to come

Out of that space that she could not command,
could not direct, could extract nothing from,
except what was given by the space itself,
out it came—what wanted to come in its own way
—and she the bystander, the observer,
the one along on the hurtling ride, though the space itself
was Silence itself, unmoving, unmoved, unmovable
—yet it drew her in, into its very within,
she who had been with-out, powerless, hands pressed
against the glass of its sides, like Alice to the looking-glass,
then she fell, was lifted in, was absorbed into the all
she saw, the all that was that is, heard, smelled, touched, tasted,
though none of these senses were, only the clear light,
yellow on the impending fall, flooding the field,
the transition of the seasonal air, as Summer
shimmered into non-existence, and clarity stood in silent reveling:
color and light and form, falling upon her all.

from the book BEING HERE:Poetic inquiries