SPRING EQUINOX
(To a love forbidden, with fatal violations)
Come close, my friend, speak to me of passion,
of fierce fires of the soul that burn all structures to the ground
and the strange scapes of light that are left standing
on the inside of the core; speak to me -- of the spring thunder
that cracks bones and drives piercing spikes into the sky
deep onto the soft flesh of the earth, and the silence
that rumbles from the wounds.
Come close, my friend,
your ink holds ancient glory; speak to me of sadness
and of longing, and of the primordial dust, the tearing separation
from the One, and the eternal quest for Union.
Come close still, old friend, tell me what you see
when the transparent visions unfurl behind your lids,
and what you hear in the silent ballads of Rumi,
of Kabir and Mirabai, whose footprints still lay fresh
in the tremulous flowered air.
Yes, my friend, speak to me
of love. For once we failed to gild a radiant moment
with its strange linings; but I now see far --
far into the mystery, where your voice
ineffably begins, and abruptly, indelibly ends.
(--adapted from notes buried in an old journal)
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