Tell Me

The white-tipped waves like old words
blown in by an onshore wind strike certainty
into this shattered shell.

Say, “I am come as time and tajidar and tardis
and all the untold poems piled atop
the platitudes of your philosophers
and set alight so you might hear, for once,
the beckoning of this beating heart.

Burnt on the captain’s orders,
so tired of separation and this self
who sees and finds no end and knows
we’re so very close.

Just look! Then look again,
what do you see that is not perfect?
Where amongst the scattered and broken
shards is there not the scent of majesty?

Where is the multitude summed to one
but in Thee?”

Traces

Full circle

Of dervishes