Since the tip of your tress fell into the breeze's hand

The love-struck heart has fallen in two from grief

Your magic eye itself is the essence of sorcery's text

But this remains that this version has fallen ill

In the curve of your tress, know you what that black mole is

A dot of soot that has fallen in the circle of Jim

Your musk-scented tress in the rose garden of your cheek

What is it but a peacock that has fallen in the garden of bliss

My heart in desire for your face, O soul's companion

Is road dust that has fallen into the breeze's hand

Like dust this earthly body cannot rise

From your street's head because it has fallen heavily

The shadow of your stature on my form, O Jesus-breath

Is a spirit's reflection that has fallen on decaying bones

The one whose station was nowhere but the Kaaba, from remembering your lips

I saw has fallen resident at the tavern's door

For lost Hafez with your grief, O dear friend

There is a union that has fallen in the ancient covenant