Wednesday, November 3


You and I have spoken all these words,
But for the way we have to go, words are no preparation.
There's no getting ready, other than grace.
My faults have stayed hidden:
One might call that a preparation!

I have one small drop of knowing in my soul
Let it dissolve in your ocean.

There are so many threats to it.
Inside of us, there's a continual autumn. Our leaves fall
and are blown out over the water.
A crow sits in the blackened limbs
and talks about what's gone.

Then your generosity
returns: Spring, moisture, intelligence,
The smell of hyacinth and cypress

-- Rumi
Translated by Coleman Barks