īn nīz bogzarad

Burn, molten ashen grey, fire, underwater flames. Dazzle, leap and kiss the sky, pierce its crystal blue composure. Tiny shards raining down, sharp as poison, snow white lips. I bow my head and kiss the ground, in semi-ritual, eyes upturned. To stroke the earth and pound the stones, jewels of souls long gone yet with me. I hear the breathing far below, deep tremors, cascading blackened rainbows. Cutting pieces out of the earth with stinging sharp-edged fragments of sky. This too shall pass, īn nīz bogzarad, ephemerality, a Sufi story. Intense sunlight and it’s very quiet. The heat of the evening, why so fierce? All-consuming, exquisite in its radiant hush. Windchimes sparkle their merry tune, I hear bees, a baby muted behind glass. This crystal sunlight, diamond strength. The flowers bow gently, observing me, mute yet so potent, little vessels of strength. I’m grateful  in their peace, the light makes me present, lilac winds whisper tremors of that far below.