The shine in the fields and in the orchard
has become the light of your face.
No home now, no loved occupation, no belongings, no figuring profit and loss.
When this love comes, it is impossible
to worry about honor or reputation, what the community gives, the more and the less.
There is no longer any demarcation line
between the worlds. Hats fly off.
A pack of dogs snarl and bite each other
around a carcass. We are not those dogs.
Only God knows our secrets, and that is enough. We have no more arguments over doctrine.
What is planted in each person’s soul will sprout. We surrender to however that happens.
Companions used to be magnets that drew us
together to talk. No more. No more even the sun.
It has turned itself into the face
of Shams Tabriz, the sanctity and the praise.