Today rain drifting through The avenues plated in gold And rust of autumn, carrying It’s little black umbrella, Becomes a partner in this self Discourse on the quickening Impulse of eros and the catalogue Of sins this other me partakes from Often: hiding of real motives, Lusts masquerading as loves, and false grief At each of these backed by weak resolve Not to repeat them. The body stays innocent, Perpetually, with wine and dancing.

So now that the self is quieted enough, By the rain from all the whirling noise Of this city with its symphonies and rock arenas, To call for a truce and observe a Sabbath Of ten or fifteen minutes, I, Impelled by a resistance to unlived sermons, Sit here at a desk, hacking away in these Lines, a clearing for that invisible world, Which these words shall never touch.

You shove this broken down Jalopy into the workshop Of Hafiz.

He leans over you And begins to unhook those Jammed tubes.

Now all morning Weep dirty tears Long overdue.

(After Hafiz)

When you were a kid Someone first pinched you You cried out: Mommy! Later when someone else came Around and hammered nails In the middle of your trunk.

You swore at them Dirtiest curses of the marketplace Pushing those rusting nails Deeper into yourself.

Now you toss all day and night With some nameless pain Which you haven’t had examined.

Look at yourself, brother. See how many holes Beloved Has already knocked in your walls To let her light to stream through

If only, if only you let the acid Of love do its work!