A Delicate Girl
The terrible grief of being human! Let
us drink it all, but with a difference.
We sit with Junnaiyd and Bestami. The
moon rising here cannot be covered with
cloud. There are no deaths for lovers.
Who is the self? A delicate girl that
flows out when we draw the sword of
selfless action. This earth eats men
and women, and yet we are sent to eat
the world, this place that tries to fool
us with tomorrow. Wait until tomorrow,
which we outwit by enjoying only this
now. We gather at night to celebrate
being human. Sometimes we call out low
to the tambourine. Fish drink the sea,
but the sea does not get smaller! We
eat the clouds and evening light. We
are slaves tasting the royal wine.
Right now it is snowing heavily on Pontiac. Makes me miss upstate a little … trying to figure out the immediate future is slow going. Each little thing dependent on the next on the next on the next … etc.
Some Kiss We Want
There is some kiss we want with
our whole lives, the touch of
spirit on the body. Seawater
begs the pear to break its shell.
And the lily, how passionately
it needs some wild darling! At
night, I open the window and ask
the moon to come and press its
face against mine. Breathe into
me. Close the language-door and
open the love-window. The moon
won’t use the door, only the window.
Someone who does not run
toward the allure of love
walks a road where nothing
lives. But this dove here
senses the love hawk floating
above, and waits, and will not
be driven or scared to safety.