The Sunflower

Thirsty for the Light, you turn your head to the horizon.
In disbelief, as that passionate friend drops out of view.

You try to pull yourself from the roots and chase that vagabonding lover, 
but firmly grounded you remain.

Yet in that pulling strain, you call up the soil's moist offering.
That, each night you transform to the morning's yellow joy.

The Drunkard

The drunkard leaves the tavern.
Whirling in bliss.
Kissed by the Beloved.
Her heart shines clear.
Dancing, she welcomes all pilgrims.

Spilled Paint

The artist reaches for the paint pots.
Drunk with the "om" of a hundred monks, 
She knocks the tray to the floor.

Colors run amok. 
Tapping frequencies that come from the heart of the Beloved.

Focusing again on the canvas before her, she lifts the brush.
Nothing was disturbed. All still shimmers with possibility.

The Artist in the Tavern (for Hedi)

The pitcher is full of sweet wine.

The patrons have jostled the table in their haste to reach the bar.

A small portion spills on to the worn tablecloth, adding one more layer to the unfolding design.

The tavernkeeper tends to the noisy customers, nodding silently to the special guest as she gathers her brushes, admires her work, and heads for the door.

FOR AURELIA AND TIM

Circles within circles. Suns birthing suns.
Mists rising from the once silent sea.
Gathering in overlapping spirals,
Sun and Moon sing their way,
Rushing to this earth.
Resting soon, this child, in your loving embrace.

The Seer

The seer, she with a large heart,
touches each visitor with her gaze.

Her gifts, once offered to Axe and Uxum
on the shores of an African sea, and
Sung out loud under the Sun Dance pole,
are more subtle now.

 Resting in the Beloved One's blessing, 
Her Light touches the deep longing places, 
held in shadow no longer.

The Sea Bird

Through the fire
The daring sea bird
Far from the coastal bay
Flies to the highest pine
His song
Bringing the healing rain.

The Merchant of Scents

The merchant of scents
Sits in a faraway corner of the old souk.
Few tourists find their way back here.

But those unruly ones,
Drunk with love.
Chased away by the guards,
lest they frighten the paying customers,
Always seem to find this place.
Like crazy bees, drawn to the flower.

Wedding Feast

They are setting up the tables for the wedding feast.
Cut flowers at every seat.
Crisp linen and fine china await the guests.

At the gate the dervish stands. 
Asking each arrival, "did you remember to bring the wine?"

The host is embarrased.
But the lovers know: their glass is already overflowing.

To a Fearful Poet

I am working so hard. No words are flowing.

The dervish says:

Just turn and turn again,. dear friend.
The spinner has no judge or master.
Write as if you are dancing to the Beloved.
One breath can release the cistern.

Your words, like prayers on the wings of butterflies,
have sat in this cacoon far too long.

Dye Pots

The dye pots sit in a circle around her.
"You can resist this bath," she tells the unruly wool.
"But it is only in surrender, that your true color is birthed."

In your heart, dear friend, is the cauldron that the Beloved One has stirred.
"Drink up that rich red wine, its color is yours alone.

Ishq

The stars turn in the night sky.
The dervisha spins, recreating that heavenly longing.
"Ishq."

Her light, a beacon of deep return.

Market Day (for Sheilana)

The streets are crowded with jostling vendor stalls.
Every color, every scent, promises a new delight.

The thirsty pilgrims are pushed along by the crowd,
Searching for the Hidden One.
"Where is the Beloved's tavern?" they ask each eager seller.

Exhausted, they rest at the well.
The guardian gently offers an over-flowing cup.
Drink, dear friends.
This is the wine of true lovers.