The Forgiving Springtime
When the infant sheds white cloak of death;
when newborn smile stretches across the Earth,
she has no memory of the cold winter;
of the harshly arguing winds;
Spring is her forgiveness;
Spring is her resurgent love.
Don’t turn away from the spreading arms of spring.
Do not shun her. Let her in.
Whirling Internally
Ruminating upon Rumi’s*
most illuminating rhymes;
turning circles; I’m intern-
ally in tune with space and time;
contemplating peace and love and
God’s eternal paradigms.
Now my spirit sings while others,
round about me, merely mime.
*Poet and teacher of Sufi-ism.
Diamond Face
Some see the giant juggler
who, each evening, takes a bow;
some see bears or bulls or rams
or a satyr with his bow.
Some see apples in a tree,
bobbing on the autumn wind;
some just see machinery,
clockwork with no need to wind.
Some see the universe and
then their bright, inner eyes close;
I feel part of a person,
a mother who holds me close.
Her stars that look like eyes;
they look, like eyes, at me;
I gaze at them in wonder
and I wonder what they see.
