Keep walking, though there’s no place to get to.
Don’t try to see through the distances.
That’s not for human beings. Move within,
but don’t move the way fear makes you move.



Walk to the well.
Turn as the earth and the moon turn,
circling what they love.
Whatever circles comes from the center.



The rose laughs at my long-looking,
my constantly wondering what
a rose means, and who owns
the rose, whatever it means.



Two hands, two feet, two eyes, good,
as it should be, but no separation
of the Friend and your loving.

Any dividing there
makes other untrue distinctions like “Jew,”
and “Christian,” and “Muslim.”