Jars of springwater are not enough
anymore. Take us down to the river!
The face of peace, the sun itself.
No more slippery cloudlike moon.
Give us one clear morning after another
and the one whose work remains unfinished,
who is our work as we diminish, idle,
though occupied, empty, and open.
A nightingale flies nearer the roses.
A girl blushes. Pomegranates ripen.
Hallaj will be executed. A man walks
a mountain path, solitary and full of
prayer. Trust grows for nine months,
then a new being appears. Narcissus
at the edge, creekwater washing tree
roots: God is giving a general intro-
ductory lecture. We hear it and read it
everywhere in the field, through the
branches. We’ll never finish studying.
Neither of us has a penny, yet we’re
walking the jeweler’s bazaar seriously
considering making a purchase! Or
shall I say this with other metaphors?
A barn crowded with souls. Quietness
served around a table. Two people talk
along a road that’s paved with words.
Without a net, I catch a falcon
and release it to the sky, hunting
God. This wine I drink today was
never held in a clay jar. I love
this world, even as I hear the great
wind of leaving it rising, for there
is a grainy taste I prefer to every
idea of heaven: human friendship.