Shabda

 

The bee has no word 

for bewildering sweetness.
It is not a description
of the honeysuckle that 

entices you to 

the dew-sparkling nectar 

of entanglement 

on a ruined fence.
What lures your lips 

to the spilling chalice
is beyond the sound of the flower, 

even quieter than 

the music of the hummingbird.
Follow the incense
of a luminous whisper 

that seems to begin in the world,
but always leads you back
inside your chest.

Photo by my dear friend, Kristy Thompson