Now am I a resident in the street called Love Street,
That river of dust which flows around the Beloved's feet.
Isaiah told the dust-dwellers to arise and sing.
But because I remain in the dust my songs take wing.
To where else than dust would you go to find the lord of hearts—
For dust is cups that catch his blood which drips from the world's darts?
Blood is of the First Supper, which is of time and place;
At the Last is poured the pure wine of the Master's grace.
Our unending sorrow is our reward, for our tears
Enhance the Beloved's beauty—or so it appears.
The truth is our happiness only reflects his bliss;
The lover is the shadow of what the Beloved is.
And where else can a shadow dwell but in the dust?
Of what else can love's singer tell but love's sweet trust?
IN DUST I SING, p. 71
2012 © Avatar's Abode Trust