Thursday, September 16, 2010

your seed pouch

hang from the night sky
so that your eye might draw
one more image of love upon your silk canvas
before sleep.

words from him have reached you
and tilled a golden field inside.

when all your desires are distilled
you will cast just two votes:

to love more,
and be happy.

take the sounds from the mouth-flute of hafiz
and mix them into your seed pouch.

and when the moon says,
"it is time to plant,"

why not dance,
dance and

-hafiz of persia

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