The moon has her phases, the sun
its night, the polestar obscured
by the dizziness of galaxies.
The slightest tilt of earth
turns Winter to Spring.
Grief cleanses us with loss
yet keeps returning, and joy
is like the morning rain.
We thrive on a chaos of changes.
Even the Teacher appears and
disappears, a dancer
at the edge of the wilderness
in summer mist.
Not you, Beloved, your love
no liquid ebb and flow,
but an incandescent diadem of solitude.
With each inhalation,
I renew our marriage vows.
We were wedded before there were two.
The ocean of silence between us
is merely a pause between the notes
in a Chopin Nocturne.
The melody pierces my chest,
not as the cry of a migrant lark
who will be far South tomorrow,
but the pulse of my own blood chanting
Thou, Thou, Thou...
You are my rhythm.
You are the sound inside "friend"
when the word is unspoken.
What if your heart should stop beating?
I would be the darkness where
the snuffed-out flame goes, still
infused with a fragrance of longing.
I would be nearer than aloneness.
I would be the place inside you
where prayers begin.