First you befriend the moon. Then you hold your breath
And listen to the hummingbirds in your ears. You think to yourself—
I am not ready to plant a flower garden inside my soul—but you
Suddenly find yourself on your knees, hands clasped together,
Asking God for rain—begging, really, for downpours that last for days.
Later, lying on your back, you face the stars and ask for directions.
Love—it happens as it happens, they say. Now forget the meaning
Of time. Simply stop thinking and wander out into the garden,
Venture up to where the white peonies are exploding. Sit with them.
Every moment now is blessed. The hummingbirds go quiet.
Stillness is a virtue when the sun is rising. You will feel the white
Hot caress of blossoms blooming in your blood, you will think,
I am in love now, I am no longer immune to wonder—
No longer able to look in a mirror and see only a single faraway face.
Afterwards, when the moon visits, you will say, Please, not now.