Poem #212

Yesterday at dawn, a cup or two fell into my hand by chance

and from the Cupbearer's lips, wine fell into my taste's sweet trance.

Drunk once more, I sought reunion with youth's witness bright and fair

but divorce had already fallen—our bond beyond repair.

In every station on the mystic path where we would roam

safety fell to flirtation's glance, and separation claimed our home.

Cupbearer, pass the wine cup steadily along the way

all who didn't come as lovers fell to hypocrisy's sway.

Dream-reader, bring good news! Last night the sun itself did fall

into my dawn-wine's sugar sleep, stability over all.

I schemed to capture just one glance from those intoxicated eyes

but patience fell before the arch her eyebrow curve implies.

Had King Yahya not championed faith through generosity's grace

kingdom and religion would have fallen from order's ordered place.

When Hafez penned these scattered verses in their wild array

the bird of thought had fallen captive to longing's snare that day.