Filed under: Poetry | Tags: choice, Gd, kindred, poem, Poetry, religion, Rumi, Vama
Originally written in April, 2009, but never posted. Re-discovered this afternoon:
To lie down, to slither between
the scattered books of her bed–
and she lies with me and then we face
the same way to read a Rumi poem
taped over the front of our faces.
Our bodies become same– so similar
I could misplace my arms against hers.
Is this the covenant of kindred souls?
– The intertwined loss of the individual
in bodies lying unbordered and
the same– a tangle
of ever-dying skin over echoed scripture.
Cursed thus, we will pursue Gd
out of our pasts to the vast opening
where the page ends– and hesitate
wondering if we are leaving or coming
– heretics or prophets here
against the edge of the shadow of
not knowing.
I, sinner, confess that the holy I feel
is in the gratitude for
my body and His blood–
and that I may be half in this soft moment
with you– we breathing, sacred soul.
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