The love we feel is smoke from that.
Existence gets painted with non-existence,
it's source, the fire behind a screen.
Smoke born of this fire hides the fire!
Pass through the smoke. Soul, a moving
river: body, the riverbed. Soul can
break the circle of fate and habit.
Take hold of the hand of absence and let
it draw you through the Pleiades,
giving up wet and dry, hot and cold.
You become a confidant of Shams Tabriz.
You see clearly the glory of nothing
and stand, inexplicably, there.