Joseph

Joseph has come, the handsome one of this age,

a victory banner floating over spring flowers.

Those of you whose work it is to wake the dead,

get up. This is a work day.

The lion that hunts lions charges into the meadow.

Yesterday and the day before are gone.

The beautiful coin of now slaps down in your hand.

Start the drumbeat. Everything we have said

about the Friend is true. The beauty of that

peacefulness makes the whole world restless.

Spread your love-robe out to catch

what sifts down from the ninth level.

You heart closed up in a chest, open,

for the Friend is entering you.

You feet, it is time to dance.

Don't talk about the old man.

He is young again. And don't mention

the past. Do you understand?

The beloved is here.

A Wished-For Song

You are song, a wished-for song.

Go through the ear to the center,

where the sky is, where wind,

where silent knowing.

Put seeds and cover them.

Blades will sprout

where you do your work.

The Orchard

Come to the orchard in spring.

There is light and wine and sweethearts

in the pomegranate flowers.

If you do not come, these do not matter.

 If you do come, these do not matter.

A Bowl

Imagine the time the particle you are

returns where it came from.

The family darling comes home. Wine,

without being contained in cups,

is handed around.

A red glint appears in a granite outcrop,

and suddenly the whole cliff turns to ruby.

At dawn I walked along with a monk

on his way to the monastery.

We do the same work, I told him.

We suffer the same.

He gave me a bowl, and I saw.

The soul has this shape.

Shams, and actual sunlight, help me now,

being in the middle of being

partly in myself, and partly outside.

Spring

Again the violet bows to the lily.

Again, the rose is tearing off her gown.

The green ones have come from the other world,

tipsy like the breeze up to some new foolishness.

Again, near the top of the mountain

the anemone's sweet features appear.

The hyacinth speaks formally to the jasmine.

Peace be with you. And peace to you, lad.

Come walk with me in the meadow.

The Friend is here like water in the stream,

like a lotus on the water.

The ringdove comes asking, Where,

where is the Friend? With one note

the nightingale indicates the rose.

Many things must be left unsaid because it is late,

but whatever conversation we have not had 

 tonight, we will have tomorrow.

The Sun is Love

The sun is love. The lover,

a speck circling the sun.

A spring wind moves to dance

any branch that isn't dead.

Quietness

Inside this new love, die.

Your way begins on the other side.

Become the sky.

Take an axe to the prison wall.

Escape.

Walk out like someone suddenly born into color.

Do it now.

You are covered with thick cloud.

Slide out the side. Die,

and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign

that you have died.

Your old life was a frantic running

from silence.

The speechless full moon

comes out now.