You are the dawn that arrives in the middle of the night, dark hair strands of music filling the reed, understanding entering through ear and eye, the fragrant steam of soup.
Signs and specific instructions articulate from you, teaching us new ways to wander.
Asking why and how are no longer right. Say soul is like the feet of an ant, or oceanwater, bitter and salty, or a snake that has the antidote
for its poison also in its skull.
We push through these puzzling forms
to sit in your morning shade.
Adam A. Azim 