sometimes a number has a tale to tell
sometimes two
sometimes three
sometimes it chases its own tail in circles
like a hula hoop
like Bernard on his first flight through the galaxy
 
sometimes we become more than we are
a simpler thing, smooth and round
winding off toward infinity
 
sometimes when you look in a face you see the image you were made in
you see the first sound, the last sound
and the hum of the in between times
 
sometimes the second thing comes first
and then the trees grow, you glow
the flowers reach up to meet you
and there is no need to bend down
 
when you are at the teachers feet
there is no need to bow down
everything rises up to greet you
 
things flow in circles
like a crazy 8

"St John of the Cross heard an Arab love poem
Through the bars and began his poem" ~Robert Bly

This is a wide ocean, we could swim for centuries
and never find a shore
but you, Dear Robert, have given us so many ladders
so many points of entry to the sea

St John of the Cross heard the Arab love poem
and climbed down that ladder
I read your love words
and find myself in foreign pools, at home

I've never heard a love poem absent of the Beloved
never heard a Muslim, Hindu, Jew or Christian
who, when speaking of love, didn't love the same Being
that this heart longs for

our Beloved may be an elephant
but his trunk wraps about us all
and hold us up
beyond the waves that could take us under

we all are trapped behind the same bars as St John
we all long for the same escape
if only we'd bare our necks bravely
no one would be left in the house
there would be no need for pews

prayer mats
or turning toward the east

every spot of light
opens to the same freedom
there is nowhere we can turn
that hasn't been touched by the Beloved's gaze