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.




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