The Moon Has Become A Dancer At

Your Hand Opens And Closes, Opens And Closes. If It Were Always A Fist Or Always Stretched Open, You Would Be Paralysed. Your Deepest Presence Is In Every Small Contracting And Expanding, The Two As Beautifully Balanced And Coordinated As Birds' Wings.

Last Night I Begged The Wise One To Tell Me The Secret Of The World. Gently, Gently, He Whispered, "be Quiet, The Secret Cannot Be Spoken, It Is Wrapped In Silence."

Let The Beloved Be A Hat Pulled Down Firmly On My Head.

The Soul Is A Stranger Trying To Find A Home Somewhere That Is Not A Where.

I'm Dominated By Love, By My Passion Of Love For Love