I wish I knew what you wanted.
You block the road and won’t give me rest.
You pull my leap-rope one way, then the other.
You act cold, my darling!
Will this night of talking ever end?
Why am I still embarrassed and timid about you?
You are thousands. You are one.
Quiet, but most articulate.

Your name is Spring.
Your name is wine.
Your name is nausea
that comes from the wine!

You are my darling
and the light points
in my eyes.

You are every image, and yet
I’m homesick for you.

Can I get there?
Where the deer pounces on the lion,
where the one i’m after’s
after me?

This drum and these words keep pounding!
Let them both smash through their coverings
into silence.

Rumi