Sunday, November 13, 2022

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.

Translation: Coleman Barks