Poem for Tuesday

What does not exist looks so handsome.
What does exist, where is it?
An ocean is hidden. All we see is foam,
shapes of dust, spinning, tall as minarets, but I want wind.
Dust can’t rise up without wind, I know,
but can’t I understand this
by some way other than induction?

Invisible ocean, wind. Visible foam and dust: This is speech.
Why can’t we hear thought?
These eyes were born asleep.
Why organize a universe this way?

With the merchant close by a magician measures out
five hundred ells of linen moonlight.
It takes all his money, but the merchant buys the lot.
Suddenly there’s no linen, and of course there’s no money,
which was his life spent wrongly, and yours.
Say, Save me, Thou One,
from witches who tie knots and blow on them.
They’re tying them again.
Prayers are not enough. You must do something.

Three companions for you:
Number One, what you own. He won’t even leave the house
for some danger you might be in. He stays inside.
Number two, your good friend. He at least comes to the
funeral.
He stands and talks at the gravesite. No further.

The third companion, what you do, your work,
goes down into death to be there with you,
to help.
Take deep refuge with that companion, beforehand.

Rumi