I HAVE FOUND MY CARAVAN
. . . someone untied your camel last night
For I hear its gentle voice
Calling for God in the desert.
~Hafiz, trans. Daniel Ladinsky
The camel loosed herself.
She ran off alone,
early in the morning
before I rose to load her
with the burdens of my day.
She was running free
between the dunes
as the Milky Way
faded into the silver of dawn.
When I whistled, she came,
docile, but with the wild gleam
of starlight deep
in her long-lashed eyes.
COMING TOWARD HOME
I want to love things all by myself,
not looking sidelong to see
if others are loving them, too:
the sky like old blue glass held in by a tracery of trees,
the great horned owl’s cynical question–
Who’s awake?
the falling cold stars of snow.
One night I snowshoed in the woods alone,
the full moon lamplight gleaming
through the lace of soft snow clouds.
Coming toward home I saw in the frame of an uncurtained window
the painting of a summer orchard
above my piano against the green wall,
my husband moving across the kitchen with his teacup.
I thought I would break for joy.
This is an old one. It was published in Calyx, in September, 2000
GladErrand 