He Comes Running / Poems

These Poems written within the limits of 6X4 inch pocket-sized pieces of paper (one poem per piece) in Istanbul Turkey visiting dervish friends listening to long-night spiritual talks (sohbets) in (for me) incomprehensible Turkish in November of 2013. Translations of the ineffable on cloud strands floating in air? Words out of nowhere? Sometimes the dawn comes/up so silently you don't notice/that its tissues of gold have/slid over everything with the/just-as-it-is-ness of everything/placid in its light...