Love is not condescension, never
that, nor books, nor any marking


on paper, nor what people say of
each other. Love is a tree with


branches reaching into eternity
and roots set deep in eternity,


and no trunk! Have you seen it?

The mind cannot. Your desiring


cannot. The longing you feel for
this loves comes from inside you.



When you become the Friend, your
longing will be as the man in


the ocean who holds to a piece of
wood. Eventually, wood, man, and

oceans become one swaying being,

shams Tabriz, the secret of God.

Both light and shadow
are the dance of Love.

Love has no cause;
it is the astrolabe of God’s secrets.

Lover and Loving are inseparable
and timeless.



Although I may try to describe Love
when I experience it I am speechless.

Although I may try to write about Love
I am rendered helpless;
my pen breaks and the paper slips away
at the ineffable place
where Lover, Loving and Loved are one.



Every moment is made glorious
by the light of Love.

the women burn
their solitude in desolate pans
their underwear smells of blind hands
of running in the sun
of death a little
a moment of silence are wearing
between the legs
these women with still ****** hips
and the maniac blood slowly ascends
into nakedness

all they need is
faith

a green screen,
the imaged voice
in my head.

all is
but
what it is.

and when
spring comes,
wounded trees
bear a blossom
in their own blood.