Daily Hafiz

All your images of winter
I see against your sky.

I understand the wounds
That have not healed in you.

They exist
Because God and love
Have not yet become real enough

To allow you to forgive
The dream.

You listen to an old alley song
That brings your body pain;

Now chain your ears
To his pacing drum and flute.

Fix your eyes upon
The magnificent arch of his brow

That supports
And allows this universe to expand.

Your hands, feet, and heart are wise
And want to know the warmth
Of a Perfect One's circle.

A true saint
Is an eternal spring.

Inside the veins of a petal
On a blooming redbud tree

Are hidden worlds
Where Hafiz sometimes
Resides.

I will spread
A Persian carpet there
Woven with light.

We can drink wine
From a gourd I hollowed out
And dried on the roof of my house.

I will bring bread I have kneaded
That contains my own
Divine genes

And cheese from a calf I raised.

My love for your Master is such
You can lean back
And I will feed you this truth:

Your wounds of love can only heal
When you can forgive yourself
This dream.