At the orchard gate today
Was that tomorrow
Istenem
Make a fire
Kiss your heart
Risha
Arabic for feather
....
In this way my love
Whispers to me
Warm, beloved and still
In this way my love
Come to me
....
In a language of two hands
This 
A strange poetry
....
She is turning
Turning in
From all the temples of old
From all the holds
In which its stowed
Turning into gold
....
In his way through
A sacred dimension
Not by might
Not by power
By his spirit
His loving intention