Poem after Meditating
I can sense you,
like a bottom-heavy baby bird
senses her first flight.
You are there—
and every time I sit,
I can almost open your door,
to the vastness to which I may return.
But then the door—
recedes,
and I am left with tiny explosions of thought
tingling the mind,
but not expanding
into everything/nothingness
as you do.
I know you,
but don’t.
I feel you,
but I can’t touch you.
My fingertips are greedy for your requisition.
You don’t recognize this language
and you sleep soundlessly.
I have a memory of your taste,
but my mouth is tinged with
the flavor of burnt coffee.
I trust you—
when I am ready for you
I will open like a star jasmine.
A tiny white explosion of
destiny
when the stars and the heart and the spine
are aligned.
Until then, I meet you
in theory.
A delicious promise
of nothingness
to overcome my own forgetting.
My own boxed self.
We will open each other’s boxes
and bloom each others lotuses.
And in this, our marriage, will be
forever giving birth to itself.
I can wait because I have no choice.
But I can also wait,
because I choose you,
you
who includes me
in all that you are, and all that
I am.