Welcome, Spring!

Did you hear that winter is over? The basil

and the carnations cannot control their

laughter. The nightingale, back from his

wandering, has been made singing master

over the birds. The trees reach out their

congratulations. The soul goes dancing

through the king's doorway. Anemones blush

because they have seen the rose naked.

Spring, the only fair judge, walks in the

courtroom, and several December thieves steal

away. Last year's miracles will soon be

forgotten. New creatures whirl in from non-

existence, galaxies scattered around their

feet. Have you met them? Do you hear the

bud of Jesus crooning in the cradle? A single

narcissus flower has been appointed Inspector

of Kingdoms. A feast is set. Listen: the

wind is pouring wine! Love used to hide

inside images: no more! The orchard hangs

out its lanterns. The dead come stumbling by

in shrouds. Nothing can stay bound or be

imprisoned. You say, "End this poem here,

and wait for what's next." I will. Poems

are rough notations for the music we are.

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from The Soul of Rumi translated by Coleman Barks

The Feast of The Feminine