June 28, 2022
RUMI ON THE FRONT PORCH

First, I removed all the clocks from my house,
then I removed the mirrors,
I watered the plants, trimmed the dead leaves
and swept the kitchen,
then I went outside and sat on my front porch,
Rumi book in hand,
I just sat there for a long while, doing nothing,
a few people walked by and I waved at them,
they waved back,
a dog barked,
I thought of a few things I had thought of before,
then I opened the book.
Rumi lived 800 years ago,
but he was rocking right next to me on my front porch,
he said something funny that made us both laugh,
for a moment we forgot who we were,
then Rumi started singing a song that made no sense,
kind of like a flock of drunken birds,
flying in a strange pattern,
with the wind at their backs.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 07:11 AM | Comments (0)

June 02, 2022
Sailing

The tears of a thousand lifetimes searching for you
is the ocean I sail upon today,
the knowledge that both of us are very much alive,
but not in the same room.
Wind in my sails, I see the sun, the sky, and the
backs of my own hands, having aged, it seems,
when I wasn't looking, odd little brown spots
some kind of secret code I do not understand.
This feeling inside me,
this uncontainable, untranslatable feeling inside me
is all I am today,
my heart, a helium-filled child's balloon,
flying free.
Overhead,
I see a lone seagull,
just one,
wings outstretched,
having caught the downdraft
and gliding.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:51 AM | Comments (0)