This, he says, is your path:
See with your ears, hear with your eyes.
We’ll bind your mouth shut with silk ribbons;
the unborn speak without words.
Believe not what you feel, for a presence is
the mocking shadow of an absence.
A mural of a past life dissolves, and all that is left
are faded stage curtains and blank walls.
Of all that is eternal, I give you:
Lute-players gathering under fig trees
to play the last hues of night away.
feel the sun seep through your fingers.
Jasmine petals scattered under an empty chair.
Sweet dreams, while they last, can be stretched over
And of me, I give you:
An oil lamp, abandoned in the hollow of an ancient tree.
Wrapped in a ball of light, lit by a far eastern fire
of which its fuel are blessed olive-trees.
Light upon light. And you will find us, in between flame and
shadow. Where mystics prostrate, weeping, in delight and fear.
Where choruses bleed your ears and deceive you to remember
what never was.
Faith, have faith:
Lips curled on the edge of a flute
Hesitant, almost reluctant, you’ll breathe in the cool, dark water.
It’s only a matter of time.
Their skirts are brighter than their smirking smiles.
Marble eyes reflect only sulphurous smoke.
Tonight you dine with Babylonian kings and
I’ll be waiting:
Under the shade of a splintered cross,
with the harps and drums hidden under
wet grass. There are no songs to be sang
at your beginning or end. We’ll be there,
ashen faced, speaking less and saying more.
We’ll laugh the disappointment off our faces, and
ask ourselves, silently, upon a revelation-
Where does it all end?
Girl in the Green Scarf