I am not this.  Your beauty closes
my eyes, and I am falling into
that.  You cut the umbilical with
this love that's been with me since
birth. My mother saw your mountain
reflected in my face, you that lift
coverings, you that bring death.  We
agreed on this before creation.  I've
been so hidden.  Ask my body who I
am.  It says solid ground.  Ask my
soul.  Dizzy as the wind.  Neither.
I stand here facing Shams of Tabriz.
Rumi