A lavender whistle
petaled into me
like a feather
from an unseen canopy
I am not sure whether the being who speaks in What the World is Trying to Be is human at heart.
This, however, is probably idle speculation in the end. When I read pieces from Rumi and the Shadow, often the central character is as much of an enigma as the space between the lines.
There is a grace to characters and ideas expressed at Rumi and the Shadow which I find soothing. And I am not sure what the world is trying to be, but it is a new idea to daydream about, and to imagine a great tree (or man or treant) thinking about the same thing is somehow comforting.
Then, shaking this strange image
from its limbs
got up and stretched, saying,
“I am what the whole world is trying to be”
and washed its face
in the morning mist