The music flowed
and my tears sprang.
Mountains within me
have since echoed it around
for years on end.
Nothing makes me
at this moment aware more
of the paralysis of my words,
only the sound has power
to scatter me into the air.
There may be sorrows in it
that flows a Ganges of tears,
but more a forest of mercy
where unworthy souls seek refuge,
or a vision of your sweet chamber
which seals off all my senses
with fragrances of a happy death.
I felt like kneeling down
and putting my head on your lap then.
I long now for your spring rain
to soak all over me again.
The incantation still has magic
to put me in your garden of tulips.
It always seems a soft spot
inside me is intruded
when the ritual I perform
is witnessed and overheard.
2104/3/24/01:51
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