I believe in the chicken
grease on Kabir’s book. I believe that no matter
how long I walk, I’m as east
as I’ll ever be.
I believe in faint perfume
and an enemy approaching.
I never believe a laughing salesman.
I believe I am the guest deep in the woods
confused when I spy the nest
of woven horsehair.
Is it more important to ask
where is the horse
or
is faith a gathering
of wild eggs?
I believe the question.
You’re a believer.
Love this!