Tasābīḥ

when the light of your eye is purified
you will hear the trees cry out and clap,
and in the long grind of settling strata stone
see by subterranean fire and force etched
the echoed impression of the eternal Name,
bending on the incline of earth’s energy,
the pulse of the wound of grace.
when your inmost ear is attuned to the Real,
the crack of the branch in the icestorm will
sound a psalm of unending praise renewed
in each moment and minutest fiber of being, and so in
your own heart’s pump and beat of blood, pure
creaturely fervor and light, the rhythm of remembrance,
time’s flow become the prayer-bead line followed.
forever and ever in the Temple all cry
Glory. on this mountain and on that hill.
all is sanctuary and sanctuaried,
you can finally see, and hear.

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