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The holy one’s fragrance travels everywhere,
infusing atmospheres. Her lips spiral open
like petals of a budding rose, her wisdom
words unveiling radiance. In the
garden, birdsong in the key of gold!
Your beauty, my joy;
creation’s nature, love;
my desire, renunciation.
Enchanted, I wish for nothing
but to walk where you have led.
My heart guards a schedule of pleasures,
rehearses familiar sorrows,
still bleeds from the wounds that love
in its cruelty has carved.
Look: I bleed a crimson flood.
And my blood is feeding flowers.
The thorns that have ruined my feet
are softening to roses. Makhfi, if the
gatekeeper denies you sanctuary, don’t
complain: you know the sweetest refuge.
Look: your Beloved’s face, above her eyes.
Her eyebrows arc more gracefully
than arches at any shrine. Open your
heart-gate and welcome her, the Friend.
