Thursday, June 10, 2010

When the night is so momentary,

and the path to the temple unlit,

when all the sages have emptied your altar,

and become a lamp within.....

the heart burns ecstasy like the tip of a cigarette,

that each moment begins with yearning

and ends in utter fulfillment.

A grasshopper then sits by her computer,

done with the seeking,

and sings this bittersweet song of the Beloved

over and over again.

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