Love Letter 232 Firm Grip

When we dance,

my hair becomes the serpent

curving into Arabic

my feet are henna slippers sliding on the Zikr's

geometric harp,

...then Aramaic pastures

I find my fingers following the imprint,

cave walls, then floors, where prayers are given

permission

to live and breathe the air

and then I fall

down into Alice

and become the blissful spinning... where words are not enough

I hold you in the voiceless breath of All Speaking Allah

I carry your ancient dreaming caravan in my footsteps

I borrow all the images of lineage and then

I Go Blank

with God's Love

I cannot see your eyes

'cept for a burning bush

I cannot see your new wounds

for you are a full circle

and so old,

you must be the friend of God

turning, turning

truths

spin into cedar

sprouting vast apartments where all Beings Live

and You Are the Door

I Love You

I Love the way we Dance

Passion is Compassion's partner...Compassion's Lover!

Your Beloved