The Great Divide

By far there is no distance greater
than twixt the hand of man and God,
nor come to pass each askance later
moments sans a faithful nod.
By far there is no deed as honest
as the act of leaping blind,
nor ceases much such self admonish
from when an absence must will I find.
I hope the sky does fade in hue,
each noon and night I pray to you,
when to dark and when to light,
I dream awakened of that sight.
By far there is no moment better,
nor is by far a place as Holy
as the soul that bears your letter,
or a soul when burdened sorely.
By far there is no dust or dirt,
by far no clay is just as worthy,
as the one outworn from birth
or one thus worn in your reverie.
Kaaba, Aqsa, Hagia, Makkah,
pray I nay in their prostration,
Lord, Saviour, Highness, Allah,
thou art worth this exaltation.
No more shalt I serve in thy honor
words I fear may displease thee,
for as a mortal but am a fawner
I fall from grace but thou agree.

Convalescence Is A River Dead

May I flow as lucid as that
does flow red the river bed,
no longer dry the bed rock dead,
worthless as where I once sat.
Breathe it may a passive yawn,
feign I shall not bit displeasure,
nor may you children of leisure,
whether flows it dusk or dawn.
For you see now I am that winding
path of stones and aging bones
to where I lead the river unknown
is where I lose myself in finding.