This mirror inside me shows …
I can’t say what, but I can’t not know!
I run from body.
I run from spirit.
I do not belong anywhere.
I’m not alive!
You smell the decay?
You talk about my craziness.
Listen rather to the honed-blade sanity
I say.
This gourd head on top of a dervish robe,
do I look like someone you know?
This dipper gourd full of liquid
upsidedown and not spilling a drop!
Or if it spills,
it drops into God and rounds into pearls.
I form a cloud over that ocean and gather spillings.
When Shams is here, I rain.
After a day or two, lilies sprout,
the shape of my tongue.