Occasionally (and perhaps often) the poems that come out are written by an unknown entity, certainly not "myself", and some, like this one, are so suggestive of certain feelings and modes of expression that we might believe we know who was speaking. But really, it's a Mystery, which makes it all the more beautiful...

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IT'S NO USE



Oh cynical one, my heart hears
the words of Rumi and I, like
each of you, break into song.
Love flows out that I am unable
to stop. Rumi's invitation says,
“Let love out of the cages you
have built inside you!”— and
at those words locks break,
chains fall of themselves to the
floor. This one who writes says,
“You go insane with all those others;
I'll stay right here and watch until
you come home.” But this loving,
once loosed, won't leave anyone out.
Standing on the sidelines is an
impossibility, trying to be a dark
star in a black sky. Come along
with us, bring all the intimacy
you've bound in your six-foot
casket waiting for the judgement
day. We are all stars shining
with unique intensity, and no
matter how hard you try, you
cannot hide this radiant display!

THE SWIMMING WIND



The wind pushes
the goldenrod in six
directions, a sea of gold
waves running back and forth
in the field,

as shadows over my paper
and under my pencil do the same,
swimming over and under,
up and down,

all with the dry-moist sounds of
leaves and branches,
bending by the thousands,
touching each other in a kiss,

leaving, returning in a rush,

whispering

I love you,
goodbye,
I love you,
goodbye.