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

and dissolve every statue

of the Buddha 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