Pilgrim's Tree

The pilgrims have set up camp
Under the sun-reaching canopy of a large oak.

They break their fast
And dance to the Beloved.

Sheltered,
Their tents become temples,
And prayers and song fill the star-filled night.

Dear friend, you are like that tree.
Your roots draw up the Murshid's blessing.
Your words, the birds whose sweet songs
Call us home to our inner light.

Unruly Children

The scholar sits with her pen in hand Awaiting the inner voice.
Outside, unruly children And a line of drunkards disturb her concentration.
Tapping at the window, the dervish admonishes: "Go out and play! The scraped knee and torn trouser leg is the unraveled thread:
The secret unwinding to the treasury of your heart."

When the Sleeping Dervish Awakes

The caravan sits at the dry well.
Spices, gold and jewels sit in dusty trunks.

The merchants are inpatient.
Fortunes may be lost.
They demand action.

The guide says, 
"Not till that sleeping dervish awakes.
"Tomorrow, drunk with love,
"He will take us to the hidden stream."

THE SECONDS BIN

The artist returns from the winter kiln
Cracked pottery sitting on an old wooden tray.

Each day, another firing
Built log by snow-encrusted log.

Buyers come to the shop looking for bargains,
Hovering over the "seconds bin."

The potter smiles,
Knowing that their fingerprints
Once fired
Will be the glaze for tomorrow's shining vessels.

Heavy Coat

The dervish's coat is heavy.
Every pocket bulges with offerings --
Dried flowers, coins and prayer requests pressed into his hands by the devout ones from villages now far away.

His steps are slow and measured.
Stopping at this lowly tavern, he does not refuse our wine.

"All gifts are welcomed by the Beloved One. Can I do any less?"