Number 21

Sorrow from being apart from you has become my whole way of being; without you my veins and roots are like a buried ruby waiting in the dark. Unless a glowing face appears before my eyes, the blood of meaning will never boil up in my thoughts. No amount of digging can move us from our place; we are a vein of ruby whose roots run deep in the stone. Follow me and step bravely into the ranks of love; our thicket can turn even the fox of your fear into a lion. For all my simple heart, when grief was handed to me like a trust, my glass would not betray it: it never lets the color of my face show the secret. No vein of ruby can be found in this generous mine; even the pickaxe turns red only from the blood of my own head.