The Taste of Morning

Time's knife slides from the sheath,

as fish from where it swims.

Being closer and closer is the desire

of the body. Don't wish for union!

There's a closeness beyond that. Why

would God want a second God? Fall in

love in such a way that it frees you

from any connecting. Love is the soul's

light, the taste of morning, no me, no

we, no claim of being. These words

are the smoke the fire gives off as it

absolves its defects, as eyes in silence,

tears, face. Love cannot be said.

From the translation of Rumi by Coleman Barks