A Friend of Mine Has Disappeared #poem (she was at a #retreat / I nailed it)

spiral or tendril?

A Friend of Mine Has Disappeared

To a spiritual retreat,

I am thinking,

the sort wherein

orchestral rustling

of leaves accompany

spiritual exercise.

Wherein spirals and tendrils,

the inner ear's carpet,

unfurl as royal messengers

bear baskets overflowing

sweetmeats and jewels

and, remember, I know 

her, mystique.

A truck's bullhorn blast

on Third Avenue, 2 a.m.

That's mystique, too.

I suspect she is at a writers'

retreat and didn't say.

She knew I'd be jealous.

Oh, Universe, embrace me

as I weep my petty tears.

Wherever she is, allow

my friend settle into 

knowing as You allow

my wretched unknowing.

Thanks to Pure Slush for including this poem in their anthology on friendship. There's a story here, much of which is set in my imagination. I hadn't heard anything from my friend A., who lived nearby. She wasn't at a spiritual retreat, it turns out, but she was at an artist colony and also in the midst of 'issues'. So, this and that, a call-for-work from the Australian press Pure Slush . . .