On the threshold

On the threshold
 

I’ve moved into a mixed neighborhood.

A Zen Buddhist lives to the left of me.

A mystic Christian to my right.

In the park across the street,

a dervish whirls daily among the trees.

At night they gather on my porch

to serenade me with Christmas carols. 

Meher Baba interprets for my deaf ears.

I stand in the doorway, wishing

I had the throat to join them.

In or out, Baba gestures to me.

Not on the threshold.  In or out.  In or out.

O child of God, it’s sung in every language –

this world is not my home.