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 yet to become real enough

To allow you to forgive
The dream.

HAFIZ

WIND THAT TASTES OF BREAD AND SALT

There's no more wine; my bowl is broken;
I am terribly sick, and only Shams can cure me.

Do you know Shams, the prince of seeing,
who lifts the utterly drowned up out of the ocean
and revives them, so that the shore looks like
multiple marriages are going on at once,
easy laughing here, a formal toast,
a procession with music.

Shams is a trumpet note of light
that starts the atoms spinning,
a wind that comes at dawn tasting of bread and salt.

Move to the edge and over. Fly with the wings
he gives, and if you get tired, lie down,
but keep opening inside your soul.
RUMI

"By the sea, by the sea
by the beautiful sea . . ."