In a World With No Time for Poetry
In a world with no time for poetry we still have to die. It would be so convenient if we could just turn in…
The inklings and glimpses that we get
of the vast extravagant panorama
The one or two trickles we see of the
colossal waterfall in sun’s glare
The oncoming rush of Divine Presence we may
feel on our cheeks though unseen
Are like a hem of the skirt flashing in a
dark night only a few
spangles catching the starlight
of a dancer who prefers quick
glances to prolonged acquaintance
as the cosmos whistles past us on its
way to an ever-expanding eternity
whose shreds and tiny hairs catch on our
clothes and whose
dimensions from which we’ve come
beckon us to where we’re going
though one breath in the Beloved’s chamber
might draw in a strand of intoxicating perfume
airborne for a split second before
like ourselves
evaporating entirely away
1/23/2009 (from Stretched Out on Amethysts)
Categories: Poems