On The Last Day Of Tammuz

I am wandering

waiting for someone else

to tell me I can enter, belong,

waiting for the invitation 

that might never arrive

or perhaps I have lost. Entering 

may not be the point

like the stupas we climb the mountain

to circumvent - 

instead to arrive with humility, wonder, acceptance,

rescued from rubble,

maps everywhere and nowhere,

tattered and whole.  My

exile and the one who

returns woven into

this one body, listening

learning the call for the Beloved

from grasshopper and cricket,

crow and cardinals    seeking the

other.