Who can sing like the cup of the lily,
filled with the low chant of bees?
Whose voice can soar like the brown coastal petrels
sailing out over the seas?
My heart, in thorns can;
still bleeding, in love,
my soul in shadows
can mourn like a dove.
A voice, fresh green water,
a burning, still cry,
allowed me to sing thus:
“I love as I die!”
In darkness, God’s eclipse,
I blinded my eyes,
I looked to my wet heart,
I looked to the skies.
“Don’t search, I am with you
in this stillness of night,
turn from the created
that blinds you to sight.
“So sing, I will hear you
from naught that you see,
I will hear you in loving
and you will hear me.”
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