How Could It Happen

Who’d have known this sadness would turn

    on a dime into a

                                  kind of madness,

          making my mind a hell as rivers

of fire ran through my eyes and swept

            away what it was I’d

     long been,

                         tossing it like

a boat across

                         a sea of pulsing

        blood as waves

             ripped apart

    its planks and ribs

loosened as salty ocean rushed in—

when, for wanting, I was taken

into a suddenly

                       arid dimension

          of depth like a desert

split wide open

to swallow a pride in its insistence.

        How could I have

        known it would happen?

        How could it happen

            that I’ve known?

After Rumi, from the Persian