Access Poem by Richard Blanch

It is difficult to find. Like an island bathed in mist,
Glinting distantly, biding its time, waiting for the chiming
In the mind to change to a new key. Listen-
Ice is melting. While purple fades, green lines
Are forming. All kinds of enticements glide
Just beyond, full of innocent guile, hiding
For the moment, staying the stream, instinct
By instant. It is as if lips had nearly kissed
Always feinting or feigning. You are the guest
Who is always arriving. It is the caress
Which is always preparing. In your quest
Not your fulfilment lies its answer. Inside
And out it lingers: but do not look for guidance,
Peace, tranquillity, silence: do not expect rest..