You have plucked a jasmine’s buds
For their unborn fragrance of God,
Your God less fragrant in the glass
And indivisible from the blossoms.
He turns fragrant in a diluted dawn
After you have woken up to crows.
Their caws from a night’s darkness
Are the fragrant art form of sound
Cracking like sky in sea under rain
And a rain turns fragrant on earth.