THREE SHOOTS. ONE TAMARISK.

When Abraham planted a Tamarisk

to give shade to his seeds

the roots grew as deep

as the tree did high.

Lightning struck and the trunk split in three:

Moses. Messiah. Muhammad.

Each attached at the Source,

a legend out of a liminal character

naming the same divine essence

in the electric bolt and the tree.

All three an effigy of the Reality;

crude stories wrapping the reason

we all have a spiritual sensibility

of One who must be named and cannot.

It’s good to be you, it’s good to be me

in the shade of ancient fame;

we are the new leaves

growing in sacred silence—

each with a name,

recovering from violence.