There's a gift in here
somewhere—
in this diamond-cutting pain that
creates the triumph and
the countless deaths
in me.
The lake has diluted
my haven of sky:
my jasmine-white
and star-forged armor of
long ago;
crackling testimonies
of power that outdanced kings
and empires and the
arrogance of time;
wind-shattered light scattered
here and there . . .
How perfect to be so utterly
dissolved, so dismantled,
so unbound,
and here, in this
wilderness of
mind,
here is where I will launch
without leaving
the ground.
Let the Earth rise with me.
I'll also take this theater of myths
circling the night,
but this time,
Sacred Music of the Spheres,
send all of me through the portal
or everything is
left behind.
And tell me,
just what is the rite of passage
into joy?
Is it giving like the Earth,
in love with itself, gives,
then takes everything,
then gives back more?
The stars are desolate
next to that devotion,
that deliverance.
Now don't sever
this perfect thread of knowing
with more questions.