I have been in love for seven million years.
It was always you.
Don’t ruin it now by telling me your name.
Isn’t it time for a moratorium on names,
A moratorium on the name of God
and the word Peace,
until we learn to use them as verbs.
A moratorium on Love, so that this body
may be love’s exquisite synonym.
A moratorium on Better, Worse,
on Sin and Hell, on Heaven too,
so that our eyes may grow
accustomed to the earth.
A moratorium on the sobriquet
of Christ, Allah, Yahweh, Ram,
so the goddess may have room to breathe,
and we may hear her inscrutable murmur
from the cavern of the prophet in each
human heart, her infinitesimal thunder
in a violet’s bell, rung by a dewdrop.
Isn’t it time to reinvent the tongue,
so the ineffable may babble sweet
new names for the One Who Is?
O Magdalenic Desolation.
O Magdalenic Desolation.
Intergalactic Hummingbird Silence.
Diamond Gaze of the Holographic Dragonfly.
Tantric Kiss on the Tourmaline Pituitary.
Wastrel Face in the Bottom of the Empty Grail.
Quantum Spider of the Long-Legged Ayin Soph.
She-Wolf Who Steals My Ancient Heart
and Suckles Me Anew on the Milk of the Forest.
Crocus-Footed Goddess of Melting Snow.
Worm of Delight in the Apple of Melancholy.
Umber-Thighed Alluvium of Birth Streams.
Vowel of Sighing.
Mother. Friend. Bewilderment.
* A poem from The Nectar Of This Breath
* A poem from The Nectar Of This Breath
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