a thinking poem inspired by Rumi

With my bare head and loose feet I leave the house

and go out flinging into sun motes,
laughing, seeing at once that I have been
trying all day to give you things
from my empty hands.
I put my hands in my pockets.

I gave you the world, stars, and some
pale lacy thing I called a soul,
-in words, I mean -
and all along my hands held just wrinkles
and crumbs from breakfast.

But you!
You are no better.
You are a beggar like me,
always asking the universe for everything.
You who say you have so much to give
are another silly fool
with allot of words
and a terrible need for breakfast.

Oh, I know you are something, alright.
I see you shimmering there on the edges,
but I shall not pick you up
and try to put you in my pockets.
Neither will I try to give you things
I only dream of having.
See? I turn my pockets out.