After midnight, no one will hear the subtle sighs
of my lover as she leaves our bed to wander,
moon-like, through lit clouds, wreathed
in the perfume of transience, soaring
high and away in the dream time.
At the pond,
not a ripple will stir.
On her way, she may
pause to tend the holy fire,
as all the words and names that rose
from nowhere curl back again like streaks
of smoke to the realm from whence they came.
When we meet again in our glad embrace
of unconcealed delight, there will be no place
where Love leaves off and something less slinks in.
In light and shadow, twining, mindless,
blissful sighs of “Yes, Yes, Yes” welcome us
to the fragrant jasmine petal heart of this moment,
drenched in that true deathlessness, a ruby glimmer
in emerald floating worlds, white flowering worlds,
all spiraling blessing, both given and taken,
empty and full, all life without end —
Amen.
The Book of Yes 