open air

Almost every day I read a few lines of Rumi. His words inspire me to be the authority of my own life. Remember when you wrote in school "I think" and your teacher told you to remove that phrase and just say what you think? I tried writing this poem that way, and in the manner of Rumi. I don't mean to compare myself to him, he's incomparable. But I'm happy to be a copyist of what inspires me, like painting students who copy masterpieces in the Louvre. Amazing! I'm not comparing myself to them either.


Open Air


Go outside at night
somewhere with trees.
See how the branches open to the moon.

There is love that is not hot.
Even on the coldest nights
its arms are open.

It is the warmth inside
that keeps you alive.
The sun in your blood as in a leaf
and in the branch
after the leaf turns red
and falls.

Close your eyes. Feel how like love
are the cool fingers of the wind
on your face.


- Ruth M.


Happy Thanksgiving Thursday.