The wind, like a seasoned woman,
had spoken to me.
All those books which you have read
espousing non-attachment –
they speak and will speak to your mind,
but not your heart.
They won’t do you the slightest good
in matters of the blood.
For every brush with great beauty
you shall know the cost.
The greater the beauty, the keener the love,
keener is the consuming fire and frost.
Yourself you’ll sometimes flatter,
thinking you were wise to let go,
when your love had been a lukewarm matter.
The lukewarm can philosophize so.
Yes, you’ll be a fierce lover who
heaps up attachments.
Don’t play the one-in-a-million sage.
You’re no Buddha or Socrates of the age.
Attached you’ll be – yet you’ll be honest, and live.
Should your desires flutter and depart,
they won’t herald the wisdom in your heart,
some supreme love wrapping you in her scent,
but a waning vim, vitality spent.
amen!