It is time for me to depart
brow furrowed, burdens too heavy for lesser men.
So I tell myself in the long hours
without recourse to violence
or prayer.

I have grown soft you see
apparently
as I have almost forgotten the sting
of your love-whip at my back.

My road is not a lonely one
verily,
yet it's travelers have no heart for conversation
since the desert engenders silence from we wanderers.

You alone walk upright,
seemingly burdenless
free
but the desert and I, know
what you keep from the mortals.

You laugh at vengeful passersby
fearing nothing,
everything.
You should not worry over much
as your secret is probably safest with me.

We are walking to the blue mountains
out beyond Rumi's field,
that place where you and I made love
in the days before Christ made you his concubine.

I welcome your scorn, your disgust
lovingly...tenderly
for it proves how much you once loved me.
Though you truly have forgotten our
half healed wounds.

Smiling a child's smile as I tread behind
your bare shoulder of a memory
I recite poetry aloud;
heartlessly
you continue ahead and above.

It's almost over
this journey I began years ago
thoughtlessly
the day I held you close
so our souls could touch.