The Gift

The Earth would die If the sun stopped kissing her.

The heart is a The thousand-stringed instrument That can only be tuned with Love.

Let's get loose With Compassion, Let's drown in the delicious Ambience of Love.

Listen: this world is the lunatic's sphere, Don't always agree it's real, Even with my feet upon it And the postman knowing my door My address is somewhere else.

All your wounds from craving love Exist because of heroic deeds.

Sometimes I say to a poem, "I don't have the strength To wring out another drop Of the sun." And the poem will often Respond By climbing onto a barroom table: Then lifts its skirt, winks, Causing the whole sky to Fall.

Not loving is a letting go. Listen, The terrain around here Is Far too Dangerous For That.

Love is The funeral pyre Where I have laid my living body. All the false notions of myself That once caused fear, pain, Have turned to ash As I neared God. What has risen From the tangled web of thought and sinew Now shines with jubilation Through the eyes of angels And screams from the guts of Infinite existence Itself. Love is the funeral pyre Where the heart must lay Its body.

Lean your sweet neck and mouth Out of that dark nest where you hide, I will pour effulgence into your mind.

There are So many positions of Love: Each curve on a branch, The thousand different ways Your eyes can embrace us, The infinite shapes your Mind can draw, The spring Orchestra of scents, The currents of light combusting Like passionate lips, The revolution of Existence's skirt Whose folds contain other worlds. Your every sigh that falls against His inconceivable Omnipresent Body.

Lovers Don't tell all of their Secrets. They might Count each other's moles That reside in the shy Regions, Then keep that tally strictly To themselves. God and I Have signe a contract To be even more intimate than That! Though a clause Mentions Something about not drawing detailed maps To all His beautiful Laughing Moles.

Whatis the root of all these words? One thing: Love. But a love so deep and sweet it needed to express itself with scents, sounds, colors that never before existed.

What is the root of all these words? One thing: Love. But a love so deep and sweet it needed to express itself with scents, sounds, colors that never before existed.

This sky Where we live Is no place to lose your wings So love, love Love.

Why Just ask the donkey in me To speak to the donkey in you, When I have so many other beautiful animals And brilliant colored birds inside That are longing to say something wonderful And exciting to your heart? Let's open all the locked doors upon our eyes That keep us from knowing the Intelligence That begets love And a more lively and satisfying conversation With the Friend. Let's turn loose our golden falcons So that they can meet in the sky Where our spirits belong-- Necking like two Hot kids. Let's hold hands and get drunk near the sun And sing sweet songs to God Until He joins us with a few notes From his own sublime lute and drum. If you have a better idea Of how to pass a lonely night After your glands may have performed All their little magic Then speak up sweethearts, speak up, For Hafiz and all the world will listen. Why just bring your donkey to me Asking for stale hay And a boring conference with the idiot In regards to this precious matter-- Such a precious matter as love, When I have so many other divine animals And brilliant colored birds inside That are all longing To so sweetly Greet You!