Oh Rumi, already
I have forgotten
your words from
this morning, I heard
them as though through
a hundred white veils.
It was something
about sweetness
and scattering, and
it feels like a loss
to not remember
exactly what was said.
Your words
were like, I don’t know,
a breeze moving over
my body, rearranging me
as if I were sand so
that what remains is
more art of the beloved and
something less of me.
Perhaps this is part
of the emptying—
letting go of words,
even lovely ones,
as the body releases
a breath. The lungs
do not lament the air
that so marvelously
filled them up.
How difficult I make it
sometimes. Like today,
for nearly an hour
I plum forgot to smile.
By grace I remembered
to soften the face
and let myself be smiled.
How wonderful it’s been
since then, the veils
rippling around me,
openings appearing
in the current of folds.