God fell between the fingers
of that prince who trembled
high in northern mountains
amidst the cold fragrances of April.
Hands wide open:
gold coins dropped
into gold bearing streams,
silk garments thrown upon the grass,
body dipped in the silver flow,
beard glistening with pearl drops,
ears soothed in bird song,
heart welling with angels--
the great loneliness slipped away
as the meaning that could not survive
in temple or palace
streamed through his mind
to ravish his heart
like spring breezes thrill
the emergent bud.
And so he returned barefoot
to the warmth of southern lands
with almond oils flowing from his fingers--
naked amidst the naked ones,
poor amongst the poor,
to sing in bareness of breath
the core of his soul
from earth to sky,
from bud to blossom.