From the Greek version of
the Odes of Solomon

You prune, bud, flower and fruit me
      touch, wound open, what is closed:
dark tendrils grow me into you.

Not alone, but we all
      run you to the end
      burn with your peace
      heavy with your ripeness
      hid in crannied wall.

You suckle us, each and every:
      milk-wine sets our minds to rest
      living water sings my mouth its song.

Not alone, but we all
      turn to you, unclothed of cloth
      dance your light, and, oh, so tender embrace.

You rest us merry
      tuck time away
      shine my face with yours
      kiss me with the kisses of your lips
           my breath fragrant with you.

What you do, delights your heart
      you delight in us; and we, in you.

My emptiness you fill with your fullness
      rooms without end, you sweep clean, make ready
      you remember us, one by one
           membered into you
      your seed sprouts our life.

So it is, so it is.