Pssst. Here!
May 21, 2005
I steal these warm words like ovenfresh bread from between the lips of the old poets who sing past their graves of life and love. Between your palms I slip these stolen goods. Furtive and skillful and lawless as a backbench pupil passing notes in class...Pssst. Here!Even after all this time
The sun never says to the earth,
"You Owe Me."
Look what happens with
A love like that,
It lights the Whole Sky.
~Hafiz
