If She does not caress you
with your own inhalation,
or walk with you in the garden
between heartbeats,
how can you say that you have
And how will you know when
She is here? Dear one,
your emptiness turns indigo,
fragrant as jasmine.
Your numb places overflow
with the nectar of yearning.
You no longer fear growing hollow,
or floating like a leaf
on the stream of night.
You do not fall asleep, you fall
into prayer, a kind of wedding,
a vow without words.
The bride wears your breath
as her luminous veil.
She presses on your brow
a throbbing pearl of wakefulness,
the kiss of solitude.
Instead of slumber, a waveless
flame glows in your body,
lit by love’s silence.
In the darkest hour
you cease to ask for light
because the midnight stillness
under your breastbone
is a maelstrom of stars.
You are present to yourself,
like silver in a moonbeam,
like sweetness in a mother’s milk.
And the dignity of this very breath,
how it gently places the soul
in each cell of your flesh,
is your Beloved’s secret name.
Exquisite photo by dear friend Aile Shebar
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