All posts tagged: Rumi

February 4

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In the elevator without provocation a man began to recite all of Rumi’s The Guest House breathless and done by when we reached the top of the hospital every morning a new arrival  a task to stay as steely as the stainless doors the same face presented to every floor– closed. Some momentary  awareness comes the body also a form of conveyance and pain its sharpest tone

December 8

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You said          sips of breath but I remembered          gulps of air– I’m American, Rumi, a Texan to boot, but still I can do nuance, and know too how the throat tightens from peril, at giving all or giving up— I’m leaving soon for the desert, winter-stark and emptied, with nothing to find, or so I hope, so tired now of looking, but God help me, I can’t stop.