this book is astounding

I did not have the imageless vision,
I did not see the forms whirl until they vanished
in unmoving clarity,
the being without substance of the Sufis.
I did not drink the plentitude of the void
I saw a blue sky and all the blues,
from white to green,
the spread fan of the poplars,
and on a pine, more air than bird,
a black and white mynah.
I saw the world resting on itself.
I saw the appearances.
And I named that half hour:
The Perfection of the Finite.

Paz.