XXXI

My stiff-spread arms

Break into sudden gesture;

My feet seize upon the rhythm;

My hands drag it upwards:

Thus I create the dance.

I drink of the red bowl of the sunlight:

I swim through seas of rain:

I dig my toes into earth:

I taste the smack of the wind:

I am myself:

I live.

The temples of the gods are forgotten or in ruins:

Professors are still arguing about the past and the future:

I am sick of reading marginal notes on life,

I am weary of following false banners:

I desire nothing more intensely or completely than this present;

There is nothing about me you are more likely to notice than my being:

Let me therefore rejoice silently,

A golden butterfly glancing against an unflecked wall.