Existence.

WE THREE

My love wanders the rooms, melodious,
flute notes, plucked wires,
full of a wine the magi drank
on the way to Bethlehem.

We are three. The moon comes
from its quiet corner, puts a pitcher
of water down in the center.
The circle of surface flames.

One of us kneels to kiss the threshold.

One drinks, with wine-flames playing over his face.

One watches the gathering,
and says to any cold onlookers,

          This dance is the joy of existence.

I am filled with you.
Skin, blood, bone, brain, and soul.
There’s no room for lack of trust, or trust.

Nothing in this existence but that existence.

Rumi