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
