hang from the night sky
so that your eye might draw
one more image of love upon your silk canvas
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,
-hafiz of persia