In the deepening dusk of forest glade, <br />in the mist of clouds rolling over the high hills, <br />in the sea-fog rolling in at turn of tide, <br />what feature of its form alerts us first <br />that it’s so present, now, and here? <br /> <br />That spiralled horn – why is it that we know <br />that’s where it should be seen, <br />that place upon our forehead we can feel ourselves? <br /> <br />The unicorn within us knows – <br />when attention spirals to a fine, fine point <br />and thought is stilled; that’s when <br />our single-pointed horn calls presence to its purest form, <br />its purest place, within ourself; <br />ourself; unicorn.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/unicorn-8/
