O child of God, your heart is a flower,
sometimes open, sometimes not.
Once again, the Sun walked the earth,
mankind ignoring the Light in its midst.
In twilight now, the stars peek out
and a moon of purest silver.
Sing, o nightingale, for me. I've lost my voice.
The Rose is silent, also, for reasons of Its own.
How could I have known, O Beloved, Your language?
Or what love tokens You would accept.
I was a stranger in Your court.
You threw open the doors of Your treasure house.
Eventually, this old heart will collapse upon itself.
In the ruins, someOne may build a fire.
O child of God, burnt by desire for union;
rejoice the day you come home - your whole house in flames!
(from The Garden of Surrender)
(Drawing by Rich Panico)