The flowers have opened in hedges and gardens, and may be there is one heart that has found in them this morning the gift that has been on its voyage from endless time.
LXVI
Listen, my heart, in his flute is the music of the smell of wild flowers, of the glistening leaves and gleaming water, of shadows resonant with bees’ wings.
The flute steals his smile from my friend’s lips and spreads it over my life.
LXVII
You always stand alone beyond the stream of my songs.
The waves of my tunes wash your feet but I know not how to reach them.
This play of mine with you is a play from afar.
It is the pain of separation that melts into melody through my flute.
I wait for the time when your boat crosses over to my shore and you take my flute into your own hands.