This is now. Now is. Don’t
postpone till then. Spend
the spark of iron on stone.
Sit at the head of the table,
dip your spoon in the bowl.
Seat yourself next your joy
and have your awakened soul
pour wine. Branches in the
spring wind, easy dance of
jasmine and cypress. Cloth
for green robes has been cut
from pure absence. You’re
the tailor, settled among his
shop goods, quietly sewing.
There is some kiss we want with
our whole lives, the touch of
spirit on the body. Seawater
begs the pearl to break its shell.
And how the lily, how passionately
it needs some wild darling! At
night, I open the window and ask
the moon to come and press its
face against mine. Breathe into
me. Close the language-door and
open the love-window. The moon
won’t use the door, only the window.
Those who have reached their arms
into emptiness are no longer
concerned with lies and truth, with
mind and soul, or which side of
the bed they rose from. If you
are still struggling to understand,
you are not there. You offer your
soul to one who says, “Take it to
the other side.” You’re on neither
side, yet those who love you see
you on one side or the other. You
say Illa, “only God”; then your
hungry eyes see you’re in “nothing,”
La. You’re an artist who paints
both with existence and non. Shams
could help you see who you are, but
remember, You are not your eyes.