The Unknown Flute
I know the sound of the ecstatic flute
but I don’t know whose flute it is.
A lamp burns and has neither wick nor oil.
A lily pad blossoms and is not attached to the bottom.
When one flower opens, ordinarily dozens open.
The moon bird’s head is filled with nothing but thoughts of the moon.
and when the next rain will come is all that the rain bird considers
Who is it we spend our entire life loving?
~translated by Robert Bly, found in Risking Everything, 110 Poems of Love and Revelation, edited by Roger Housden.
Picture found here.