Brief Ode to the Beloved
“We must worship the beloved in all her forms.” Ibn Arabi When I was a child, you Were my cat. But, Also, you were often More than that-- You were Whatever I looked at With wonder. And so: you were the world. But when I blinked, you’d Shrink again to become This or that-- Whatever particular Being or place I loved. And early on I sensed I’d lose you (and that proved true); Yet also, that somehow You’d return-- Resurrected into one Definite Embodiment Or some other. And I Knew I’d never be able To predict What shape you’d take, Or when you’d come. All I could do was hope I’d recognize you, Even if you were disguised, As you so often are.
“Brief Ode to the Beloved” by Gregory Orr. Copyright © 2020 by Gregory Orr. Used with permission of the poet.