Think softly,
more softly,
"Abundance,"
"Peace,"
"Compassion,"
until your breath dissolves
in the hollow heart
that has two chambers,
one for "I"
and one for "Thou,"
one for dawn and one
for evening.
A tenderness
at the threshold of creation,
between silence
and the Word,
between stillness
and trembling.
Dew forms
on the rose's mouth
just before sunrise.
I am trying to describe
the way your stem feels
when a blue moth settles
on the jasmine petal.
The tremor of the thread
in your spine
when you remember
that the sky has kissed
your brown body
every moment since birth.
The place where all
the laws of nature
(who are really gods and devas)
entangle in your peritoneum
so goldenly their
gentleness becomes
indomitable power.
Think softly,
more softly.
Listen.
They murmur with
a single voice,
and so it is.
Watercolor by Marney Ward
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