It’s the old rule that drunks have to argue
and get into fights.
The lover is just as bad. He falls into a hole.
But down in that hole he finds something shining,
worth more than any amount of money or power.
Last night the moon came dropping its clothes in the street.
I took it as a sign to start singing,
falling up into the bowl of sky.
The bowl breaks. Everywhere is falling everywhere.
Nothing else to do.
Here’s the new rule: break the wineglass,
and fall into the glassblower’s breath.
This that is tormented and very tired,
tortured with restraints like a madman,
Still you keep breaking the shell
to get the taste of its kernel!
(translated by Coleman Barks, et alia)