art Rassouli
When His love flowers through,
I am hopeless but to be His
lover
arms fondling every tress
of his creation – the lid
of garbage cans is Him,
plastic flowers I have to kiss,
helpless to resist His
Heaven-scented beauty,
tongue, heart, lips
licking tendril clouds
used-up leaves, mislaid
rings for keys, all of it
is He, He whispers
through the reeds,
In every single thing,
find me. And I do,
stroking, rocking,
holding lost parts
of his body, fear
and loss and greed,
bullets, blame,
disease, all of it
His holy kingdom,
of which I am a vassal
and a fool, stupid
with love for Him,
smitten with the dream
of His entire Being.
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