A Note for a Mystic

........ So then the mystic flies rises to the heights weightless as a wisp of straw. Like a wisp of straw, not like me whose ears with the sound of my child’s crying are full and my eyes with drops of tears my lips with smiles and my mind with the dream of suede shoes is heavy surely for flights like those like a wisp of straw one must be light not like me whose hands the weight of all the dishes and the waters can feel and the vertebrae of my neck to the strap of the big basket of the day’s loads are joined. And my heart with the vast longing of uninvited love is brimming, brimming. Love embodied with today’s clock perhaps this very noon. O dear mystic! On my stove the pot is boiling it’s almost noon goodbye for now till later ... - though at this pace, by that later perhaps you will be in the placeless - all the same for now goodbye ...