Morning light after flowing Through crystal and stone Pools in the heart’s chambers.

In it float, memories, shadows, Dust motes, irises, mirrors. Universes arrive and float away.

Questions remain for Lips to free answers, hands to free garlands. But I have been looking for the flower seller herself.

They report her different passages at different times. They report different names. But what bland taste does news have second hand!

Which alley should I then take brother? At which window should I command my eyes, To keep vigils? So I will wait here.

Give her this address: The light pool in the chambered heart, Between presences and absences.

after Rumi