Metered Silences

in another life, beloved,
place on my parched lips
songs from ancient Persia,
so I can quote Rumi to Hafez,
debate Khayyam with the gods,
so I can read Jami with those who
split open verses and drink deep
your wine from their gurgling veins

or maybe we can sit by the Yamuna
and learn as the Taj recites,
her shoulders gently
rocking in the wind,
the moon floating
between her marbled limbs,
love’s cold anguish in quatrains
that should have no language

but teach me now, beloved,
to strip words of meaning
and wind them on the broken trellis,
I swear I won’t add one more inchoate
line to your crumpled sky,
show me beloved, how to write
with your eyes, how to ferment
this poetry in metered silences.