Rumi, The Death of Saladin

You left ground and sky weeping,
mind and soul full of grief.

No one can take your place in existence,
or in absence. Both mourn, the angels, the prophets,
and this sadness I feel has taken from me
the taste of language, so that I cannot say
the flavor of my being apart.

The roof of the kingdom within has collapsed.
When I say the word you, I mean a hundred universes.

Pouring grief water or secret dripping
in the heart, eyes in the head,
or eyes of the soul, I saw yesterday
that all these flow out to find you
when you’re not here.

That bright firebird Saladin
went like an arrow,
and now the bow trembles and sobs.

If you know how to weep
for human beings, weep for Saladin.

Letter, February 13, 2015

Love: to reawaken in us the familiarity of the first touch, the intimacy in which all things are born, the fidelity with which the sun bathes the world in warmth, in which poetry sings the blue stillness of dawn, the profound simplicity of a white flower, of a naked, open heart.

That is how your love touched me, transformed me. As though my flesh and bones were no more than mist your breath traversed me, spilled into my heart of hearts, and in that blessed moment encompassing eternity I knew, I knew. I became a child again and at the same time, I grew.

Free Verse # 261 (in the warm tea your lips and mine)

Along her skin
his kisses,
a trail of jasmines
flooding into ecstasy,
a sea of silence
reflecting the moon.


His poem
upon her lips bled
into a faint whisper,
a flame writhing
with dawn’s soft passion,
into her being sighing
a silent prayer,
an incense burning
with the longing for eternity.


Before her eyes
I stopped to wonder
and before I knew it
the moment lapsed
into the sea of eternity


Mer ultime,
dans l’arôme de ses lèvres
un jardin à fleurs rouge.


In the warm tea
I feel your lips and mine
tangled in a melting dance,
honey and ginger
burning in our throats
the sweet cadence of ecstasy.

Calling You Home

Night falls
and in the dark room
I light a candle.
The shadows on the walls dance
and I watch them slowly unfolding
my deepest memories of you,
your face, your voice, your presence,
the way your warmth affects me,
our bond rising from the roots of me.
The flame flickers,
my tears fall,
and my vision sinks
into the rising mist
searching for you.
You spread all around me,
a landscape of absence
illuminated with the tender light
of the weeping flame.
Sleep overcomes my tired eyes
while the candle keeps vigil,
burning an endless prayer
calling out for you so that
through the dark shadows
you may find your way home.

I miss you, Sarah. Your absence is a knife planted in my heart.

Haiku # 155 (to Sarah)

Full moon, clear skies,
Sarah’s sleeping eyes.


at your funeral,
vacuous words..


Through the window
the light of dawn,
Sarah is that you?


On your forehead
my lips felt cold,



Snow on the mountain tops. Tannourine, the place you loved, the place that will cradle you, forever.


The church bell
in winter air tolling,
my sister sleeps.


A bare branch
covered in snow,
winter wind.


In the flowing stream
a butterfly,
no dust on her wings.

A Deserted Dream

Plinio Colombi 'Trauerweiden' 1908
Plinio Colombi ‘Trauerweiden’ 1908

my ribs stretch endless,
dark trees of a forest
inhabited by wolves
and solitary owls,
howls and hoots spinning
a deserted dream.

No foot ever treads,
no warm breath whispers,
and across the frosty ground
my poems blow like dead leaves.

The sky clears
and through the bare branches
the moonlight pours
upon a face fallen
from the eye of memory.

Lashing my tear-stained cheeks
the cold wind removes my clothes
and leaves me there,
sunk in the heart of a mute silence
where everything weeps.

Free Verse # 260 (upon night’s altar)

Her poem a candle-flame
in the dark swaying, pleading,
for his breath to embalm the darkness
with the pure light of dawn,
folding her in him.


In the roaming breeze
she catches his scent
and blossoms
as the flower
before the dawn blooms
feeling her Beloved’s breath
in the still wind


Into the desert
of their passion
they walked,
two figures falling
off the world’s edge,
their abode a garden
in the heart of dawn.


Upon night’s altar
I lit my heart,
a candle-flame
gently sobbing
a river of longing
seeking for her arms.