Ibn `Arabi, The Translation of Desires (Tarjuman al-Ashwaq), poem no. 24, translated by Michael Sells:

Stay now at the ruins
in La`la`i, fading,
and in that wasteland, grieve,
for those we loved.

At the campsite, now abandoned,
stay and call her name,
as your heart is softly
torn away,

For the time of one like me
spent near her moringa's gossamer flowering,
plucking at fruits, in measure,
and at the petals of a rose, red, ripening.

Everyone who wanted you--
you showered with graces.
Only to me did your lightning flash,
unfaithful.

Yes, she said,
there we used to come together,
in the shade of my branches,
in that luxuriant land.

My lightning
was the flash of smiles,
Now it is the blaze
of barren stone.

So blame that time
we had no way of warding off.
What fault is it
of La`la`i?

I forgave her
as I heard her speak,
grieving as I grieved
with a wounded heart.

I asked her--
when I saw her meadows
now fields of the four
scouring, twisting winds--

Did they tell you
where they'd take their noonday rest?
Yes, she said,
at Sandrock,

Where the white tents gleam
with what they hold--
from all those rising suns--
of splendor.