A taste for crow
I used to pray for a heartskin
bursting with wine. Now I ask for milk.
I used to study dervish tales, now I listen
for my grandfather’s ghost
sweeping the hallways of the old junior high.
On my return from star-gazing last night,
I tracked the temple floor with mud.
I prayed to the Holy Ghost, elbowing aside
the fellow on the prayer rug next to me.
This dream of realization is covered in dust.
I’m reluctant to smudge my clean white gloves …
or to acquire a taste for crow.
My heart is a star, burning blue-white, but
yielding no warmth across space.
O child of God, Your Beloved is everywhere,
yet diligently you guard the gates of your true Self.
(from A Jewel in the Dust)