I am a night drunk on its own stars.
The only juice I drink
I squeeze from my own heart.
Harnessing your face
in my cup of wine,
sip after sip it empties
to shine again from the sea of stars,
from a place deep within my heart.
Even your knife, beloved,
plunged in my chest,
is a gift beyond all measure.
Whether it be made of ivory or bamboo
the same breath flows through the flute,
and the same tune rises
to shroud the forest in mystery,
quiver the stars in the womb of night.
I live in the shadow of your mountain.
When your breath breezes through the ancient trees
I close my eyes and listen,
woven in your majesty.
a summer cloud in a twilight sky
scattering winedrops in the far horizon,
a pristine spring flowing untouched
in the forest deep.
Penetrating into each other’s souls
wounds become fountains of light
and tears stars burning in the womb of night,
the deep pools of their eyes.
and all things are aflame
from the inside out.