Now that your wedding veil
dissolves into shameless moonlight
we won't waste time on formalities,
asking "Are we one or two?"
We can skip the bewildering foreplay
and move straight to the moment
before dawn, piercing blackness
with a sudden inhalation,
both you and I the same breath.
How the lake, disturbed by midnight,
shuddered with a thousand rippled moons!
How the polestar shimmered
in countless dewdrop skies!
Don’t try to explain this realm
of reflections: just be the mirror.
The mind knows there is only One.
Yet the heart falls in love with
Love itself, yearning for her likeness.
The others are sleeping,
but they dream about us;
not only the bridesmaids but
the lonely guests, the whole village,
both the rich and the poor.
When they awaken, none will recall
how we circled them as two
soaring ravens contain the sky.
Our gaze may travel at the speed
of darkness, yet we never quite
annihilate each other’s face.
Bedhabedha, two not two.
This is how, in love's abyss,
we make wine out of the distance
between stars.