Allow yourself time to return to that
borrowed house, your body—
crumpling into itself if not now then
decades ahead. Pull the shades down,
ease into the interregnum between
faith and despair: just a quiet
giving no more to one than to the other.
Harbor no grief that isn't yours to keep, or
isn't anyone's judgment to give. Is it possible to feel
joy without paying for it with coin or
kingdom, without giving up the texture of
laughter pearling in the mouth? Your
many avatars are known to pursue light equally.
Normally shy, they've learned hunger is not
opposite to need, nor agency to hesitation.
People stand in loose circles in a room, dis-
quiet soothed by chatter, wine, crackers with cheese.
Remember you're all here by chance, even if
summoned by invitation. Far away, glacial
torrents sweep through villages, markets, homes.
Under the rubble, how many hearts and singing bowls?
Vast is the universe, and you are in it: rejoicing or
weeping, bending toward what bends to you
exactly as it should, as the light flickers no or maybe or
yes. The body remembers both the sweetness and the ache,
zones of seeming emptiness filled with ordinary awe.