Prelude from that volcano
Red hot words flew up from the caldera
and with applause fell in confetti flakes of ash.
Drifting through the metal haze,
softening down in dirty velvet waves
of sheets to become pressed and rubbed and ground
and shaved and shattered into tiny round
sand grains.
Then came
the sea; en echelons of endless shushes
to retrieve the broken beauty of
the cool and condensing exiled words.
From seaside dunes to singing sands,
nothing spoken in sentences…
just sea weed and bear grass.
Long lithe swords stirred by winds
swept up in rising thermals, kindled by
some emotion,
weeping or wailing in unutterable tones
and sighs and moans,
In harmony with the melodious ocean.
They danced in circles,
around the fire.
Each a gem in a bezels knot,
through the facets of their lanterns glass,
refracting flames
their meaning hot,
turning aloes wood,
to snapping embers.
On the rising ashes,
drift Names remembered,
flowing forms
in silhouette;
a qawwali
of a Dervish sohbet.
These sentient words are
the blood between us.
Your sentence is
to understanding
As the tongue is
to an ear.
I think of you with each thought,
at each turn.
Whether pirouette, or shunning twist
you are the fruit
on the edge of a limb;
That I may crawl to clutch
or catch you as you descend.
‘Tis my thinking that cast shadows.
Every thought, your axis, matters.
Spin beloved,
by your trailing skirt.
Stirs the dust along your path
and when my dusted thoughts are still,
your turn, that thought,
my ever last.
My!