As the sun sinks below the edge, the senses close.
As the sun is with shadows, as the heart takes form in a body, then rules it, as man is born of woman, so there is a secret inside your loving, a horseman cloaked in a dust cloud
that he himself has raised.
This is not a chess problem
to concentrate on and solve.
Trust, as when it is your turn at dice. Throw the elements here down. Read what has been given to you.
There is a sun warmth inside, nurturing the fruit of your being. Shams is the name of that.