“I can lean the flame in my heart into your life and turn all that frightens you
into holy incense ash.”
—Hafiz, translated by Daniel Ladinsky
The poem
is a prayer—
tendril, wind machine,
shimmer, plough—
how we cling
to the words, little
paupers, poor saviors.
It sputters
and burns,
touching us here,
singeing the tips
of our fingers, our
hair—
and yet
what houses us
(most deeply)
is what we don’t
define
what we refuse
to enclose
with our little word-
cages
what flies out
every time.
We are most
set free
by what we can’t
catch. And where
i try to reach
and miss, where i
fall short
fall flat
there
You are
most radiant
there You meet
and touch
me
again
and again
burning
my body
to ash,
to holy
ash.
– Maxima Kahn
First published in the journal Poem.
