For Farzad on His Birthday

A hawk soared the southern skies.
There was never a question as to his purpose
and the clarity he had was leant to
all in his view.

Wife now mother with power.

Daughter is daughter
Son is son

and

Friend is friend.

Generosity flowed under his wings like Rumi transforming poetry
to music through a Persian Ney.

Your song carries life to splendid heights
and beacons us to live up, to live up and look on
high.

....and borrow the winds to fill our wings, for there is plenty for
us to

soar together.

Love David

It Isn't Mine

I steal things.

A petty thief creeping around corners of properties in the dark.
Waiting still, I crouch like a cat about to spring out and take
without anyone noticing.

No one will die and no one will notice anything missing.

I'll take words, phrases and ideas and act like they were spoken, formed
for the first time by me with my breath and my lips.

Who have I been fooling? Everything already exists as the raw stone David
was carved from.

Shame on me for finding something already here and claiming it as my own.
What despair to find I never had anything at all.

Were I to never have claimed it, it would never have been mine to loose
back to the universe for all.

Let them have it. It was never mine anyway.

On Suffering

A friend went to his own and told of his suffering...

I am so alone, "he said," as if on a raft in the ocean,
desperate, starving, thirsty for love and companionship.

"Thank God!"
said his friend.

"For a moment there I thought I was alone."