From the Book 
 NOT REALLY ABOUT THE HAIR 
 I find her, 
 bed-haired and wearing 
 an old hospital gown-- 
 no longer caring 
 if her hair is styled, her nails painted, 
 her silk pajamas pressed. 
 But I care. 
 A small wish, in the midst 
 of open hands and parting waves, 
 that she could look 
 like herself--that familiar self, 
 irritating and fond. 
 And I find myself a child who, 
 momentarily distracted, lets go 
 a bright balloon 
 and begins to cry-- 
 watching it hover and drift, 
 shrinking into infinite sky. 
 THE LURE OF CLAY 
 According to Sufi legend, God coaxed spirit into form 
 when He set the clay to dancing. 
 I want you in your body-- 
 my eyes want to look at you, 
 my hands want to touch. 
 But what if 
 --just what if-- 
 the surprise at death is this-- 
 these bodies have been 
 what separate us, 
 keep us apart, 
 and rid of them 
 we are closer together 
 than ever-- 
 as close as one. Still 
 it is so hard to let go, 
 to comprehend another way-- 
 death's ravaging beauty.