I have loved Her
   through many veils,
until one morning
   She said to me:
“You will not know
   the sweetest joy
of sorrow for Me
   until the day you
can love Me as if
   you cannot lose Me.
Believe me, love.
   I can never be lost.”

“And yet, Love,
   how many times
have I lost You
   through the veils
I have so adored
   instead of You.
I cannot ever lose
   nor possess You.
And so in my love
   for lovely veils
I have so often
   lost trace of You.
Not because 
   You had left me,
but because 
   I had left You.”

Who but the foolish lover

Who but the foolish lover
has dared endure
this painful wonder:
the awareness
of being from You,
while living apart from You;
this bittersweet
torment of yearning
for togetherness,
serenely poised
midway between
impossible union
and inescapable separation.

Broken

Really, friend, what else do you expect,
smashing your heart against marble statues?