Many have brought the gifts
I use for his pleasure silk, & green hills
& heron the color of dawn
My friend walks soft as a weaving on the wind
He backlights my dreams
He has built altars beside my bed
l awake in the smell of his hair & cannot remember his name, or my own
Alive beyond this world he spears deep waters
The kingdom of heaven suffers violence
Lithe strong beautiful he rides the terror
And returns with poetry and signing
In the early morning hour,
just before dawn, lover and beloved wake
and take a drink of water.
She asks, “Do you love me or yourself more?
Really, tell the absolute truth.”
He says, “There’s nothing left of me.
I’m like a ruby held up to the sunrise.
Is it still a stone, or a world
made of redness? It has no resistance
to sunlight.”
Rumi
