Your body is here with us,
but your heart is in the meadow.
You travel with the hunters
though you yourself are what they hunt.
Like a reed flute,
you are encased by your body,
wth a restless breathy sound inside.
You are a diver;
your body is just clothing left at the shore.
You are a fish whose way is through water.
In this se there are many bright veins
and some that are dark.
The heart receives its light
from those bright veins.
If you lift your wing
I can show them to you.
You are hidden like the blood within,
and you are shy to the touch.
Those same veins sing a melancholy tune
in the sweet-stringed lute,
music from a shoreless sea
whose waves roar out of infinity.
Rumi
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