From The Belov’ed

  
 
After l have a microwaveable  
half chicken pot pie for dinner  
I mute the news according to
Trump, to fix some Twinings,  
   
then put my feet up for a read  
of verses chosen by Jackie O.  
I gradually realize it’s outside,  
there’s the lilting mesmerized  
   
vibe of a middle eastern sing  
drifting from out a screenless    
apartment window where we  
are all isolated now that night  
   
has fallen & the courtyard is  
serenely still around the pool.  
The older man is Arabic I think  
while he’s accompanied by a  
   
woodwind, a drum & dog bark,  
ending as the front gate clIcks.  
His voice like the desert wind  
dying at sunset, and the flute  
   
dances, whirling like a dervish  
with the right hand held open  
and up to receive God’s grace  
the left hand faces downward  
   
toward the earth to give that  
grace & light to a new world.  
Floating by the pool and up to  
my window where I’ve moved  
 
aside the rose drapes to feel  
a clean fresh evening breeze  
upon my face & neck & arms.  
I have no need to understand  
   
the words, as they are mystic,  
for at last after all this year &  
year before, after millions are  
gone, a novel miracle is come  
   
for in-spite the machinations  
to transcend this pandemic !  
Where in the wake of all this,  
there will be no celebrations.  
   
For those of us who are able,  
we’ll wish only to venture out  
to nowhere in particular with  
no gloves, no masks, no fear.  
   
We’re too weak for Nirvana’s  
blessing to soak in, taking us  
time to connect as survivors;  
To touch and to be touched.