Ex oriente lux
with brass rings and
black hair mint tea
fiery temper and heart
a sister and a mother
I will never meet again.
Americans are not like Rumi
No, not at all
South Florida is a fume gray concrete ghetto
Rumi would get stomach pain I assure you
Rumi and Srila Prabhupada would never visit the drive thrus
Never would the ascets of old run the same stairwells of instant gratification and fictive achievement
Neither would you see Rumi with his flute by the beach
Never
In the beat up chevy truck
taking the first bite of a sixty hour work week
reading reformation literature from the fifteen hundreds
as the motor idle in the face of climate hysteria
when the rain is pouring down
inside and out
creating puddles for tomorrow
ER in 2007
Heart monitors
Wired up
Bags of white
Mum on phone
Memory loss
Homemade tattoos
Hospital clothes
Intensive care
Re-learning to write at age 18
We melt away like life
Like ice on Swedish lakes
In springtime when sun
And birds return
Until the day they never return again
Like us
Floridian humidity
creeps closer onto your skin
than anyone you ever loved
Golden dawn rocks us
in cradle of wind
into the centuries
NordicWords 