Altar of The One

So consummately One,
All attractions quivering in your breast
I feel them pulsing through mine,
Wild embers hungry to feed
On the dry oceans of wheat
And burn them into stars;
And all desires weeping through my skin
I taste and drink from your flesh,
A sky in the hour before dawn
Invisibly raining full droplets of dew.

These ripe fruits we bring
To the Altar of The One.
Here, we feast and drink
Crushing pulp and seeds
And ecstatically drunk
Carve the poetry of dawn
Into our melding bodies,
One Body now bursting
With the sweet song of


Haiku # 9

Soften the voices
With the silent breath of peace
Rising from within


Even a loud noise
Softens when touched by the breath
Of a peaceful heart


The still breath is loud
When rising from a presence
Dissonant inside


Soften all edges
With the gold hues of a sky
Breathing emptiness


Dissolving all words
I quiver and shine brightly,
A morning clear sky

Love Makes Whole

Love’s perfection,
in my surrender
I lose my head
and widen, open,
welded to His presence
His breath through
my body blows,
weeps through
my holes.

A music from
an unseen source,
from deep within rises,
the Shepherd’s tune
quivering my soul,
smiling and crying
I shiver,
“more, yield deeper,”
a voice whispers
through my veins
and I give and I give
until I give my all
and burst into flame,
crackling and shouting,
weeping and laughing,
eating to my veins
I burn, I burn, rising –
love’s scorching bites,
in my flesh
sweetest pain
shaping, perfecting…
…(im)perfect whole.

Where the World Unfolds

The brown moth of solitude settled down
Amid the verdant boughs that my head crown.
And by and by, the woods opened their doors
Showing many leaves scattered on their floors.
A faint sound arose as from distant shores,
Waves softly flapping through the sycamores.
A laughter I heard raining with the dew,
Rising up to the clouds as the wind blew.
My heart’s waters became a lucid pond,
Gazing the azure, the sun as it dawned,
And my soul running with the crystal streams
Stood to feel the world, the breath of its beams.

No Fruit, No Seed

An old friend knocked on his door in a dream, and entering to sit by the edge of his bed where moonlight and nymph sang and danced, he asked, ‘What fruit and seed have you got to show for your way and path, your earth and field?

‘His calm eyes staring back, the hermit took a handful of breaths from his chest and offered his open hand, empty and bare.