The Syllable

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What was it you said to me, when we first met?
I cannot remember now if it was a thousand
years ago or one, but in that moment,
the rest of my life fell behind me.
I turned and walked towards you
and dropped all other distractions.
All these lives later, I am still walking,
still as lost in love as the moment
that first syllable arrived at my ear,
so terrible and so sweet.
I don’t recall what language you were speaking;
you might have been a cloud or a bird or a song.
It was your voice that inspired this longing
and my ear became loyal only to you.
It took me all this time to find you;
I mistook others for you, constantly
and I will make the same mistake forever,
in the street, at my window, in my dream,
There you are! And there!
Over there! And there!
I have thrown nets and made traps for you.
You have slipped through the finest mesh
and skipped from one snare,
slipped from another.
I cannot hold you.
A fool, but constant in my devotion,
I learned only slowly how to court you
with these praise-songs I am making,
by speaking your name sideways in the world.
What was it you said?
In that syllable is the secret I came for,
this longing that pulls me through all the worlds,
through all heavens and all hells.
My tongue is a clumsy tool
with which to praise you.
My heart, though, is as eloquent as
the blackbird in the hedge at dusk,
naming all the secret things
of the world in its song.
Great-hearted mistress.
Endlessly, I move towards your body
of bones and stones and stars.
In your eyes are the secrets of all the fires;
in your womb are all the children of every universe;
in your blood, all the memories of this world.
I am coming to you, dear Lady.
My feet are tired, but I keep walking.
Every step of the way towards you,
I am singing love songs,
each one an echo of that first syllable
you whispered in my ear.