The birth of things from the foundations,
Shooting forth together from the Earth,
Then rising gradually upwards to the top.
At the top, purity.
The heart grinds on, engraving, engraving.
As I sit upon a cloud
I await my beloved,
Rejoicing in all that is to come.
The clacking of cranes ascends:
The Self mounts the ancient stairway
Heaven's dictates do not have reasons.
I am burning from the presence of your sight.
I am seeing you see me see you . . .
As long as I am burning,
I know that I'm not alone.