No Mistake

Beloved,
you know who
I’m calling to,
though I mistake you
for the bird’s song,
the bud’s early blossom.
Here you are in
my pillow’s softness,
in the caress of
a young person’s eyes,
in the scent of summer
flowers, in the way
light drifts through
my window.  Even
my warm socks attract
my affection, the
letter in my mailbox
written by your hand:
wherever beauty
touches upon
me –there!—
as you read this,
it’s happening
again.

Posted by kind permission of the poet.

Richard Wehrman

An award-winning illustrator, graphic designer and poet, Richard lives in rural Upstate New York. He is an artist who found his way to poetry through the language and heart teachings of two 13th and 14th-century Persian poets. His works explore the spiritual and psychological aspects of living an embodied life.

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