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in our present absence

I read this adaptation of Rumi aloud, at my renegade-Christian meeting last Thursday at, of all places, the Diocesian Cathedral of Western Mass in Boston. They liked it:

you are the breast my heart nurses now,
my tongue grows along your veins;
you are giving me a glass
which dances the fountains of the sun inside:
your voices soar astride each and every angel:
your silken feathers wheel me
high into our pathways beyond the sky
and you turn time into vapor
and I dissolve with you into you
and my flame ever mates with your candle:
all melts to One through absent presence
in our present absence,
for as long as this moon shall whirl her dances
along the coasts we make, astride the sands we fire.

Of course I wasn't really writing at all, more accurately, channeling. Shaping the thirteenth-century words and recasting the theme, adding new material...

But yes the structure is still a love poem, to at least three Spirits, one of whom was sitting to my left three seats away; another of whom just had her birthday on 30 April, in mortal years she's 27 now, in immortal years, a bit past eight. Not that she counts this way anymore! She also wrote some of the core dance images of the piece in her own poem 13+ years ago, which she suggests I echo.

None of that will make the slightest sense to you at all --- unless you first comprehend parallel realities.
And embrace them.

And some of us surely do, because we really live in both of them at the same time.

machaya hamatim.


kiota too late for the stars
Moonfire Marion Bridge / Brad

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