Saturday, August 30, 2014

That stone, domed room

That stone, domed room

Bring Him to the door
by gathering your hand into a fist;

pound until it sifts right through -
no sound results - to prove

how insubstantial
is the veneer of existence

as if gaping holes might be
left in it by the next hard rain.

Thinnest I've found - in the Tomb,
hovering between lover and the Beloved

and what fills the gaps
is that (of which I know so little)

to which the word love might apply.
If ever I return to India

it will be only to that stone, domed room
hoping to leave outside everything else

and rejoice beyond the world's grasp
and power to ever touch me again.

O child of God, be a man without substance
and fall undetected through the cracks.


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