Whose kite is the sun?
Who fills the rosebud’s red?

Who drinks from the moon-jug
and spills out the ocean?

Who led my hands unchained,
to join the white-winged free bird,
laughing from above
at the prison in the playground?

Now they’re busy lighting fires
by a tent pitched in the stars
for the face inside my heart.

Who filled my pot with honey
and let me in tonight?
Who smiled with my lips?

Dervish-heart growing fuller,
with every silent drumbeat.