Whirl With Me

What is Christ if not the thrill of delight

in a single hair on the nape of your neck

as starlight pours down your backbone?

When the commandments grow sweeter
to follow than ripening grapes, you may
crush them into wine as you dance
to the drum in your left ventricle.

Sooner or later a moonbeam falls

through the lens in the eye at the center

of your chest, igniting a blaze that

burns down all other temples.

It is very late, you must wake up now

and whirl with me. Melt the silver crucifix

dangling at your throat. Dissolve every statue
of God with tears of diamond emptiness.

This is the hour to go mad with a Love
that blossoms from the silence

where looking begins.

Photo by Bahman Farzad