After midnight, no one will hear
the subtle sighs of my lover as she
leaves my bed to wander, moon-like,
through lit clouds, wreathed in the
perfume of transience, soaring
away in the dream time.
At the pond,
not a ripple will stir.
On her way,
perhaps she’ll stop
to tend the fire, roasting
cinders of wry intelligibility
with unconcealed delight as words,
names, and forms that rose from nowhere
curl back again like smoke from where they came.
When we meet again in our glad embrace
there will be no place where Love
leaves off and something
less slinks in.
In light and shadow, twining, mindless,
blissful sighs of “Yes, Yes, Yes” welcome
us to the fragrant jasmine petal heart of this
moment, drenched in that deathlessness,
ruby glimmer in green floating worlds,
white flowering worlds, all spiraling
blessing, both given and taken,
empty and full, all life
without end —