You are the living marrow. The rest is hay.
Dead grass does not nourish a human being.
When you are not here, this desire we feel
has no traveling companion.
When the sun is gone, the soul's clarity fades.
There is nothing but idiocy and mistakes.
We are half-dead, inanimate, exhausted.
The way minds most want to be
is an ocean with a soul swimming in it.
No one can describe that.
My soul, you are a master, a Moses, a Jesus.
Why do I stay blind in your presence?
You are Joseph at the bottom of his well.
Constantly working, but you do not get paid,
because what you do seems trivial, like play.
Now silence. Unless these words fill
with nourishment from the unseen, they will stay empty.
Why would I serve my friends bowls
with no food in them?