it writes me
I do not notice beauty
it notices me
I do not speak
but words come through
and this
is a way of living
without
work
I think of you
without trying
to picture
any part of you
even the sum too glorious for my fragile mind
my heart loves
though I beg it not to
or sometimes
forget to acknowledge anything it feels,
yet, it feels
I made a temple in my sleep
with pillows
and murmurs
though I was sleeping
so I don't know
how I did it
I may have tricked myself,
but
for once
everything was calm
and that calmness
has lasted
like the mystery itself
completely out of this particular persian blue
the diamond came
rising
like a lotus
and opening
at last
like Your eyes
from a banquet of sleep
nothing is impossible
without even having paved a road of gold
You
were You
I didn't have to quit smoking (though I never did smoke)
or take up Tae Kwon Do
I didn't change my perfume
or use bigger words
or start saying Thank You
more often
Gosh!
When I think of all the crawling I've done
over elaborate slopes and potholes
it must be
humorous to you
I didn't have to catch you
or put you under any spell
no incantations or red mandalas
not even a rain dance
nope
so you see
I do not write the love letter
it writes itself
love is not a method
but a living ordinary magic
just like
You Are
and without
a thought
without perfection
You and Love
have come
to my bed
again and again
as if this bed were yours
Love's bed...
Your bed...
hmmmm...
maybe it is me who has been sleeping
in Yours
mmmm...
this feels good.
Your Beloved
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