Edges

What ever happened to gentleness?
What ever happened to courtship?
To pause and fraught silence,
flirtation of one breath with another,
parted lips, patient veils,
fragrant petals of seduction?
If you cannot endure the soft,
you will be ground to dust
in the gears of despair.
The soft, not the hard,
is the portal to the Infinite.
Those who truly dwell on the edge
don't need to be edgy,
but are permeable,
embrace osmosis, dissolve.
Examine the limits of your steel.
There is nothing hard at the boundary.
Sharpness is defined by honing,
by what is not there.
Is there an edge to compassion?
Does space end in a blade?
Let your grief be the water
that wears away the stone.
Weep, and breathe again
the porous musk of Being.
The edge of the dagger
is the edge of the flower,
a fractal of gravitons dispersing
into ripples of emptiness.