The sun leaps
into responsibility
freshly pressed and dripping
another delectable day
into me.
Though sleep knows
and has always known—
I am still not ready.
Under a spell
of honeyed flowers,
I have dissolved
into the dew of night,
limbs disguised
under a river of silk,
stitched together
with the same spider
that spun the night
I spun myself in.
I know better than
to stay in this cocoon,
untwined enough
to slip one foot
into the hyacinth breeze
and unthread a hundred dreams
from heavy eyes.
What keeps me occupied is
to finish the day that has
yet to begin,
to bat the unease out of
creased pillows
and shake the fears too,
so all dust surrenders
to the peace
between everything.
I let my shadows dance
on porcelain walls
and into
the infinite window,
where the oldest light
that silently lights
the distant meadow fields,
lights the cracks of this room
and waits—
and continues to wait
for me.
“The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don’t go back to sleep. You must ask for what you really want. Don’t go back to sleep. People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds touch. The door is round and open. Don’t go back to sleep.”
“A Great Wagon” by Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks
