Try any kindness.
Remember how to ache and yearn.
Become a leaf, kissing the asphalt.
Be a stone in the meadow
glistening with crystal fissures
a nurse-log wounded with seedlings,
a chrysalis on the ash twig
throbbing with distant Spring.
If someone with even
an ember in their gaze
opens the palm of true wanting,
show them how their hollow hand
already holds the night
with all its weightless stars.
Now plunge into the shadow of grace
cast by the incandescent opal
of your solitude.
Hear the pulse of your own blood
chanting Thou, Thou.
Feel each atom as a tumult of patience
awaiting the breath of the feral
I Am, who comes to brush
her silken fur against the glow
of risen flesh inside your flesh.
And what if your heart stops beating?
She would be the midnight
where a snuffed-out flame goes,
infused with a fragrance of loss,
the silence inside silence
where prayers begin.
She is nearer than aloneness.
All I have ever wanted to share with you
is this sensation, friend,
the kiss of pistil and stamen pressed
on the mouth of the Beloved
deep within your emptiness,
the tremor of un-knowing
that is your soul.
Painting by Susan Seddon Boulet
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