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

Full moon rise
in the dark of her hair.
Her eyes, black narcissus,
moisten the petals of the rose.

In her flowering
all other beauties fade
and disappear. Her light
darkens the glowing moon.

The touch of imagination
would wound her,
Rougher still
the gaze of the eye.

Shadow play apparition--
recall her and she's gone--
too delicate to be
held by mind.

Words would describe her.
She rises just beyond
always and leaves
them stammering.

They'd catch her
in their net of words
but she slips past them
baffled, tracking after traces.

You who ride to find her,
let your camels graze!
(though you can never
graze the camels of intent).

Fall into her repose
and let her take you
beyond the bounds
of mortal being,

Unwilling to lavish
her nectared kiss
on some lover-would-be
stuck in the mire.

More beautiful than
gazelles, she is,
form beyond all form
and measure.

The sphere of light
revolves beneath her feet
Her crown glows beyond
the cosmic reaches.