I sleep with my head
on this doorsill,
not some other.
The grief of never having peace of your presence
makes breath one long sigh.
When I am dead, open the grave
and watch a cloud of smoke rise around your feet,
smothered fire-fumes from my shroud.
Beloved, come near!
A lover walks the meadow
looking for flowers.
Every man and every woman
does this looking
like streams of running water everywhere together.
Show yourself here where the pitiful
sit and sing, where Hafiz' name comes up,
and brings tears.