My Love, Has Your Night Gone Mad?

The stars have thieved your light, and peer mischievously at your unrest. I fear not the mocking pearls of the sky, for all their borrowed light will never gleam as your eyes in love. The clouds have withdrawn at my call, releasing you from the labour of counting. There is no labour now but love, keeping me in vigil until your last burden wanes; The musician has unknotted his ache, and loosened the waiting strings of his Qanun. The wind is strumming its verses mislaid; I have gathered them for you as one cups embers at dawn, to sing you onto the lips of sleep. I have ushered my eyes to restraint, and hung them as a lamp over us, Do not ask, This is light, Not fire? I once counted my heartbeat, The way sins are tallied at dawn, each time your image passed before me, and I surrendered reason as salt in a tear. Come, my dear, rest upon my bosom. My palm has found you, and set aside its prayer beads. Sleep now. I will let night learn your name, and forget its madness.