What's in your mind, my dove, my coney?

What's in your mind, my dove, my coney;

Do thoughts grow like feathers, the dead end of life;

Is it making of love or counting of money,

Or a raid on the jewels, the plans of a thief?

Open your eyes, my dearest dallier;

Let hunt with your hands for escaping me;

Go through the motions of exploring the familiar;

Stand on the brink of the warm white day.

Rise with the wind, my great big serpent;

Silence the birds and darken the air;

Change me with terror, alive in a moment;

Strike for the heart and have me there.