Reading Rumi
I would like to be impervious
and dangerous as a dervish
whirling with poems
bristling like swords
sharp enough to cut you.
And I would like to be spinning dizzy
with poetry sweet as opium,
eyes as sad as camels,
on a caravan towards utopia.
But most of all
I would like to be serene.
Not as a cloud
or corpulent bloodhound...
but more like the Sufi
with poems emerald green,
inscrutable in their symmetry.
