Divinity

 

 

This was enough:

to see the fingerprint of the sun

 

on the red silk curtain—

 

the sun that belongs

to all of us

 

and to none—

 

To see that I was wrong

about everything.

 

It was more than comfort

to find home

 

at the end of a long misunderstanding.

 

And all along I believed

there was a difference

 

between me

and the world.

 

 

 

 

 

Meditation

 

 

There ARE enough hours in the day

if you can find one minute

 

to study the shadow

on the tree outside your window.

 

It’s called a leaf.

left over from last fall.

 

There are sixty hours of memory

in that leaf. And sixty hours of time

 

for future plans

if you know the way

 

a single instant can pry apart

the iron structure of time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

One Midas Moment

 

 

 

Miracle of miracles—

Words dance the can-can

 

like white cotton socks

on a windblown clothesline

 

and I slept for eight hours

straight and the good lord saw fit

 

to send a voice from

below the house to wake me.

 

And I wish that time might turn

to stone—and freeze all of the world

 

for a minute--and all of the beautiful creatures in it

so that someone, anyone

 

might see—the lovely way it is

right now, before it passes. I love you

 

dear planet. So why must you turn?

so quickly          on your invisible axis?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Incantation

 

 

 

As for me, I didn’t need

to make difficult choices.

 

          After a night voyage with a lonely sea turtle

  and a small band of phosphorescent fish

       in the warmth of amniotic seas

 

I woke to the need to consecrate myself to Beauty

          and said: the first rule is to learn

   the grammar of the salmon,

         the sea urchin and the lowly carp.

 

When I learn their words, I whisper

       a gentle syllable and leave my harpoon

            on the beaches torn by ancient storms.

 

There is still hunger as I cross. And danger.

 

I tied my makeshift raft

                         to the stern of a punctured vessel—

                                    not sea-worthy at all. I threw my fate

 

             toward gypsy soliloquies and alphabets that dance in ancient winds

but it was never a difficult choice.

 

So it was that we passed through canals whose banks were kindled

with the smell of friendship and the greetings of humble prophets.

 

and all along—even as we sailed out of the protected bay

 on tides of orange blossom—all along

 

I never forgot that you were the one who taught me

that the first of all encounters

is the encounter of Eros. This is where legends begin.

 

 

 

 

 

Man of Peace

 

 

 

In a quiet green alley

of grass and leaning trees

the man of peace

spends his days, his nights, his life.

 

The man of peace never leaves

but remains in the valley

to rest and pray

on the knoll at the end of the row.

 

He makes no pronouncements

nor earns his keep in any way.

Every morning we bring a simple meal

to meet his human needs.

 

Oh, the sorrow that would befall us

if he were to get up and leave!

Like bread, like water, like joy, like laughter

we need him—the man of peace.