The truth is your soul, and your soul is in
The primal thought, your form comes
Before the first electron and neutron,
Before the first deliriums.
But the nature walkers in Worcestershire
Take the form of the cumulus cloud
And turn it into thoughts,
Until at night they cry aloud.
Your words come from the primal thought,
The clouds come and go, melt
And shine with silver light, the walkers
Sketch their impressions, heartfelt.
You see a form that has no lines
A color not confined to any
Spectrum. That should introduce
You to the one before the many.
Yaacov David Shulman