Mihalyi was a saint of sorts;
he improved, with his search for understanding,
the lives of so many yearning writers;
the lame in spirit heard his Zen like words.
He could not have imagined the journey
From Hungary to Zurich to Chicago
A glimpsed mandala led to the heart of the impossible image
How did he learn to trust the flow?
The Rhine flowing down to the North Sea
May start as some minute spring
At the confluence of the gravity of water and earth.
And those then who have cast their nets into that sea
May bring in treasures not found in the business of cities.
At the first sighting,the image seemed hazy
Then the words began to flow like current through a wire.
Like a river cutting slowly through rocks of marble,
like an unknown sage from the Himalyan Alps
who had kissed the lips of his muse more than once
As she floated like a ghost, no,more like music
Tracing concentric spheres into the air
Till the universe was singing.
What was most human was his appetite,his love.
Touch the hem of his garment,follow your flow
Cut your path through the hard darkness until you find
The sunlit sea you were made to swim in