We are friends with the one who kills us,
who gives us to the ocean waves.
We love this death. Only ignorance says,
Put it off a while, day after tomorrow.
Do not avoid the knife.
This friend only seems fierce,
bringing your soul more range,
perching your falcon on a cliff of the wind.
Jesus on his cross, Hallaj on his.
Those absurd executions hold a secret.
Cautious cynics claim they know
what they are doing every minute, and why.
Submit to love without thinking,
as the sun rose this morning
recklessly extinguishing
our star-candle minds.
