The flute of interior time is played
whether we hear it or not,
What we mean by "love"
is its sound coming in.
When love hits the farthest edge of
excess,
it reaches a wisdom.
And the fragrance of that knowledge!
It penetrates our thick bodies,
it goes through walls-
its network of notes has a structure
as if a million suns were arranged inside.
This tune has truth in it.
Where else have you heard a sound like
this?
Love gives naught but itself and takes
naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love . . .
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.