I Drip Out Slowly

What essence remains in the dry grass

when it gives itself to the fire?

A single blade

before the flame

has no say.


I see You, Beloved,

in the green

at the tip of the redwood bough,

in the yellow roses

climbing up the garden arch,

but could it also be You

carving the fine lines into my face

that will deepen into wrinkles,

drawing the color from my hair?

My own aging is the flame

and You the all-consuming fire.


Title from a poem by Lal Ded, a 14th century woman mystic from Kashmir

Published by

Mary Camille Thomas

Mary Camille Thomas is a native of Santa Cruz, California who considers herself lucky to be back after living in Davis, Germany, Los Angeles, Holland, and on the road in a motorhome. She is a librarian by profession, and her poetry has appeared in the Porter Gulch Review and Sisters Singing: Blessings, Prayers, Art, Songs and Sacred Stories by Women. She is is currently working on a novel called Schatz and a collection of poems of the spirit.

4 thoughts on “I Drip Out Slowly”

  1. Struck by its poignancy, strengthened by its grace, touched by its flow and beauty! Reminded that I need to get back to my collection of poetry book. It’s been too long!

    Like

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