Is it here that I will find
all dispute and all doubt refined
into pure clarity of mind?
Is it here?
The twilit room is cool and still
and time seems ready to fulfil
the long-held hopes of heart and will.
Is it here?
Outside my window shadow drifts
between the tres and Venus lifts
above the roofs as balance shifts.
Is it here?
Years have scurried past like days
with failures, fantasies, delays,
and I have asked a hundred ways,
Is it here?
It must be close. The mirror's shine
is trembling as if by design,
yet that face surely is not mine?
Is it here?
Is it here and come at last?
The present moment treembles, vast
with all the future, all the past.
Is it here?
The universe has shed its mask.
I step towards a different task,
yet one in which I still must ask,
Is it here?
Robin Skelton
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-hospice/
