Come, let us lay flowers at the feet
of who we have been,
practice through the scent
affection without attachment,
love without nostalgia,
presence with the one
who made each form home.

The old wisdom is here,
weaving its slow way
through some small words
which know fear and hope,
hope and fear, though now
are removed from anything other
than You, beloved,
not at all concerned
with existence or non-existence,
simply living in the heart,
laughing from the belly,
playing with this tajalli
by virtue of Your grace,
eternal power holding time
with the starlings and the fiddlewood
and the wind, all in harmony
with these few petals we have found.