Three Poems

The Call of the Drum and the Slap of Glory
(After Rumi)

Come to the orchard in Spring.
Sit here beside me. I have a secret to tell you.
Be clear now and quieter than a dove.

I saw you last night at the gathering.
It was midnight.
The whole neighbourhood up and out
peering into the faces of travellers.

Every image is a lie - dissolving.
A hand shifts our bird cages around
and the little hanging lamps.
I think I'm in love
I lose my place
                         the shape of my tongue

     Shhh...

Set fire to your friends
...