Poem: The Deep Ear in My Chest

The Dobermans of my mind
must be called off
and I am the only one who can do it--
quit walking into wind and craggy maws,
surrender inane, toxic chatter,
the arsenic of doubt.

I must heed Rumi’s advice:
sell my tongue and buy
a thousand ears
when Spirit steps near
and begins to speak
to the deep ear in my chest.

Only my heart can receive this gift.
Only my heart can save this day.
​
I hope it remains open,
lends me its muscle,
and nestles me in its chambers,
where cropped ears and barking
do not exist,
and my mind is a well-tended garden
sprouting jasmine, birds of paradise
and plums.