dance #39, where the beautiful bird does not drink

Where the Beautiful Bird does not drink

You have done well
In the contest of madness.

You were brave in that holy war.

You have all the honorable wounds
Of one who has tried to find love

Where the Beautiful Bird
Does not drink.

May I speak to you
Like we are close
And locked away together?

Once I found a stray kitten
And I used to soak my fingers
In warm milk;

It came to think I was five mothers
On one hand.

Wayfarer,
Why not rest your tired body?
Lean back and close your eyes.

Come morning
I will kneel by your side and feed you.
I will so gently
Spread open your mouth
And let you taste something of my
Sacred mind and life.

Hafiz, The Gift, Excerpt from “You were brave in that holy war,” p. 271

dance #39

dance #39

Around midnight. 5 minute dance in the study. Cozy, all curled up with Alice in the armchair in my study, I ask a question about joy and open The Gift to this poem. Brimming. Joyful. Moved. I curl inwards holding the book. Swelling with feeling. Joy and tears. I roll off the chair onto the cold floor littered with books and papers.  Rolling. Laughing. Holding. Heart lifting. Body curled. A slow dance on the floor. Feeling so at home in the world.

The night is warming after a blustery, snowy day. -4 degrees Celsius.

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~ by nmyers on January 30, 2009.

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