Shoot it if it rhymes

Presence

Mist from the hills
rolls in and fills the hollows, treescapes
sleepy curves on mountain-paths.

Mantras from the temple
blend with soft-spoken bells
to fill the air, drop by cool crystal drop.

Rain from the heavens
fills the streams, fish-ponds
and little cupped hands
held out in prayer.

Boatmen’s songs fill the harbour
laughter fills the playground
shifting moods fill
the heart.

There’s just no room left
for you, my friend;
but just see how you fill my world.