from Ibn al-`Arabi, Turjuman selections, translated by Michael Sells

Poem #46
Back Lit by the Moon
translated 10 December 2003 13 June 04

Between the twist
in the gut and the tear in the eye
war casts my heart in turmoil.

Deep is the red of her lips,
honey on her kiss; the proof
of the bee is in the honey.

Soft is her skin where her anklets wrap. Dark
cloud back lit by the moon in full, sunset
in her cheek. A branch on a dune of sand flowers.

She's a beauty adorned in yet more beauty,
not bound to another. Her smile
flashes from teeth as cool as hail.

No night draws out its darkness
without the breath of dawn on rise.
This we know from the ancient times.

From a garden that holds young women
budding with the curve of breasts and beauty,
no eastern breeze can pass

Without a sway of leaf and stem
and the touch of the scent of branches
blossoming and flowers.

I asked the east wind after them,
please tell me their news. And who
are you to want to know, she answered.

I left the pilgrimage at Twin Flashes
and at the relay of Ghimad and the relay
of Ghamim, close by.

No land can hold them. And how,
I asked her, can they escape
the cavalry stallions of longing?

My soul shade is their only refuge.
Wherever I am the full moon
rises and I observe its journey.

In my imagining she rises. In my
heart she sets. Gone is the bad luck
of moringa and willow.

There is no place in our campground
for a crow to caw or lament
the harmony of our embrace.