Posts Tagged ‘dissolution of the separate self’




I wanted my love to avalanche,

and love said to me, be flake of snow,


I wanted my love to be tsunami,

and love said, be water in my glass.


Be crumb of bread, be scrap of cloth,

be ray instead of sun.


I wanted to be enormous.

Love said to me, be one.







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when left in wind
the cloth unravels until it becomes
the wind

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Sometimes I forget
the trees. It’s embarrassing
to admit. Like saying I forget

I have hands. But
days go by when I do not
consider them. And then

some mornings, today,
for instance, the trees,
like an Indian saint

hurling petals at her attendants,
throw their fluffy white catkins
into my hands, my hair,

into my everywhere I look
until everything is baptized
in white cotton down

and I half expect the giant limbs
to pull me into a great gray trunk
and hold me close, whispering

into my ear, in words so quiet
no one else can hear, my daughter,
my daughter, my daughter, my daughter.

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It takes immense faith to take one step toward the Lion in the presence of the Lion.

When you arrived
I did not see the lion
crouched behind you,
did not feel the warmth
riding on its breath,
did not see the teeth,
the nostrils flared,
the glorious golden mane.
I only saw your smile.
And would I have run
toward you the way I did
knowing what I now know,
that its jaw could open wide
enough to consume the world
whole. And now you’re gone—
just disappeared—
sweet bait that led me
to the lair. And I’m
down to flimsy things
I pile between me
and his yellow stare.
Is the storyline inevitable?
Did all paths lead to here?
So few steps between us.
I pretend to hide all the same.
The hollow wish to know
what happens next.
Devoured by a lion?
Have I gone insane?
Rosemerry, it was
a metaphor.
I listen as his long tongue
slowly grooms
his paws, his wild
oh, it’s beautiful, mane.

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