It's not that I don't cry for friends,
lost and found.
It's that, I'm never truly upset
about being alone.
Solitude embraces me with the soul's
Like the taste of succulent peaches
at summer's ripe end--
A taste of love's own accord,
Friendship-space has never
filled my bowl.
Quietude, in waiting, reveals to me
a thousand ways of seeing
the mother of love.
While sleeping, waking, walking,
I eat from love's plate,
a never ending banquet,
To which everyone's already invited.
I shall not stand in your way,
But, do not wait for my invitation.
It's not necessary.
Don't you see?