It's not that I'm afraid of being hurt again: Nothing again can either hurt or heal. I have thought at moments that the ecstasy is real Although those who experience it may have no reality. For what happened is remembered like a dream In which one is exalted by intensity of loving In the spirit, a vibration of delight Without desire, for desire is fulfilled In the delight of loving. A state one does not know When awake. But what, or whom I love, Or what in me was loving, I do not know. And if all that is meaningless, I want to be cured Of a craving for something I cannot find And of the shame of never finding it.