Hafiz at Ifthar

Now is fatoor and the stars
Leak through haze and the thinning spread of dust.
How the sun raises it to itself, then sets
It gently back to ground as the moon swells
And pastes itself against the dome of Ages.

I have drunk too much--mukhjikl--my shame,
But I cannot sleep on a full belly without
The sour taste of Syrah on my tongue.
And is there no one now to kiss me, to salve
My nethers with her touch or unguent ?

Once I danced at the docks while chipped boats
Rocked beside me. Once I sang qasida,
The plaints of Cordova, for girls and lonely زوجات,
Swirling as my voice punctured the soft Persian nights,
Rewarded in the flesh beneath my goatskin as I slept.

But now I watch the dust laid to bed
In slender piles along the road, and the sun,
Tired and sinking, and the evening star
Too dull tonight to show her deep ironic beauty.

The old men used to say, Sing, Hafiz, the songs
Of Persepolis, dance and spin like a wool-spinner.
But Hafiz the Watcher bears too much weight.

He has forgotten the girls, the lyrics of troubadours,
And the smell of a jasmine sprig in silken hair.
He will sleep until the sun regains its strength
And burns him awake to face this brightness alone.