Those eyes which are a veil.
Every breath Forms the weft of the endless fabric of love.
With every breath I weave the brocade of your name, Golden letters inscribed in the satin-robe of my blood. Every thought embellishes your name, O my friend, Weaving into the fabric the turquoise domes of Iran, Dyeing the yarn in the pearl-studded depth of the sea. And I weave ever new silken garments of words only to hide you. There were some unicorns in the forest of yore. Lilies grew out of their steps.