The Lord of Beauty

The lord of beauty enters the soul

as a man walks into an orchard in spring.

Come into me that way again.

Like a fresh idea in an artist's mind,

you fashion things before they come into being.

You sweep the floor like the man

who keeps the doorway.

When you brush a form clean,

it becomes what it truly is.

You guard your silence perfectly

like a waterbag that does not leak.

You live where Shams lives,

because your heart-donkey

was strong enough to take you there.

The Uses of Fear

A donkey turning a millstone is not trying
to press oil from sesame seed. He is fleeing the blow
that was just struck and hoping to avoid the next.

For the same reason, the ox takes a load
of baggage wherever you want him to.
Shopkeepers work for themselves,
not for the flow of communal exchange.

We look to ease our pain, and this keeps civilization
moving along. Fear is the architect here.
Fear keeps us working near the ark.

Some human beings are safe havens.
Be companions with them. Others may seem to be friends,
but they are really consuming your essence
like donkeys lapping sherbet. Detach from them,
and feel your flexibility returning.
The inner moisture that lets you bend
into a basket handle is a quickening inside
that no one is ever afraid of.

Sometimes though, it is fear, a contracting,
that brings you into the presence.

Music Master

You that love lovers,

this is your home. Welcome.

In the midst of making form,

love made this form that melts form,

with love for the door

and soul for the vestibule.

Watch the dust grains

moving in the light near the window.

Their dance is our dance.

We rarely hear the inward music,

but we are all dancing to it nevertheless,

directed by the one who teaches us,

the pure joy of the sun,

our music master.

The Truest Devotion

Moses ran after the shepherd.

He followed the bewildered footprints,

in one place moving straight like a castle

across a chessboard.

Then sideways, like a bishop.

Now surging, like a wave cresting.

Now sliding down

like a fish, with always his feet

making geomancy

symbols in the sand,

recording his wandering state.

Moses finally caught up with him.

I was wrong. God has revealed to me

that there are no rules for worship.

Say whatever and however your loving tells you to.

Your sweet blasphemy is the truest devotion.

Through you a whole world is freed.

Loosen your tongue

and don't worry what comes out.

It is all the light of the spirit.

Presences

Listen to presences inside poems.

Let them take you where they will.

Follow those private hints,

and never leave the premises.

Constant Conversation

Who is luckiest in this whole orchestra? The reed.

Its mouth touches your lips to learn music.

All reeds, sugarcane especially, think only

of this chance. They sway in the canebrake,

free in the many ways they dance.

Without you the instruments would die.

One sits close beside you. Another takes a long kiss.

The tambourine begs, Touch my skin, so I can be myself.

Let me feel you enter each limb bone by bone,

that what died last night can be whole today.

Why live some soberer way and feel you ebbing out?

I won't do it.

Either give me enough wine or leave me alone,

now that I know how it is

to be with you in a constant conversation.

Whatever You Really See

A human being is essentially

a spirit-eye.

Whatever you really see,

you are that.