To The Beloved On The Last Night

to Rumi

In the dark a woman knits across the table,
Her needles click softly & tenderly.

The smell of roses are rich & sweet,
The pulsing blood of moving air.

The old pepper tree shudders & whispers,
The full moon spills silver into my hands.

Shadow, what do you know?
The sinistral mirror smiles along its crack.

The sparkling stars peck at the clouds,
An angel breathes down my back.

There is no one else in all there is
& our world is alone in its wick of light.

rae desmond jones

From DECLINE AND FALL, ASM Press, Macao 2011
raedeejay raedeejay
66-70, M
1 Response Dec 15, 2012

Quite poignant. I enjoyed reading this.