Dear Rumi
There is this boat, bobbing
and I am a boat - but I’m
not bobbing - more ducking
and diving - like that dolphin,
though I am not that dolphin,
Rumi - and if I were yours,
and you were mine, I am
not that flower you devour
for the flavours
of your spirited words,
although I am flavour,
although you are mine,
we are not those flowers
sleeping under a starry starry sky,
so I wouldn’t want us
to stop falling for blooms,
sweeping them into bouquets,
setting sail over great distances
to decorate rooms, I am not
that kind.
