She leaned toward my soul
to touch the cry in my throat,
ever-dwelling –

Her touch tears me to pieces.
Darknesses and words
are difficult
for the heart that is lost –

Cast me not away from Your presence.

And when I wake from my dream,
surrounded by darkness,
the old furniture making
its thin creaking sounds –

Do not hide Your face from me.

When I wake, wondering
if the stories of my senses
are really so sweet to my soul –
(Are stories my fortress?)
Oh, at a mournful, smoldering hour
even the tender beauty of a flower
has touched me with the harshness of flattery.

When I wake, weeping –
if only I might know
where heaven is leading
my life.