Posted in honor of the twelfth visit to America by His Holiness, Baba Shiva Rudra Balayogi Maharaj, Shivabalayogi’s only monastic disciple.
There is a happiness
like a bee hive humming inside the black locust tree
where an orphaned squirrel makes his home among thorns.
No one can fill what has never been empty
nor displace what is always full
but when love sits down in your heart, it overflows.
Some look at my face and see a slammed door
locked against the cold
but inside this empty room I am always calling your name.
In rapture, the little white dog watches his master’s face
wondering if the light around her head is edible.
Now in the middle of the night I am awake
watching the moon blossom in that cloud shaped like the palm of an open hand.
Between two locust trees where someone has strung a clothesline
a thousand ants are walking.
Each one carries in its jaws a white petal round as the moon.