Wednesday, October 13, 2010

I'm Not Saying This Right

You bind me, and I tear away in a rage to open out
into air, a round brightness, a candlepoint,
all reason, all love.

This confusing joy, your doing,
this hangover, your tender thorn.

You turn to look, I turn.
I'm not saying this right.

I am a jailed crazy who ties up spirit-women.
I am Solomon.

What goes come back. Come back.
We never left each other.

A disbeliever hides his disbelief,
but I will say his secret.

More and more awake, getting up at night,
spinning and falling with love for Shams.


Elisabeth said...

I am in awe at the thought of a 'tender thorn'. Thanks, Ruth.

Ruth said...

Me too, Elisabeth.