Waltz

I touch hatred like a covered breast;

I without stopping go from garment to garment,

sleeping at a distance.

I am not, I'm of no use, I do not know

anyone; I have no weapons of ocean or wood,

I do not live in this house.

My mouth is full of night and water.

The abiding moon determines

what I do not have.

What I have is in the midst of the waves,

a ray of water, a day for myself,

an iron depth.

There is no cross-tide, there is no shield, no costume,

there is no special solution too deep to be sounded,

no vicious eyelid.

I live suddenly and other times I follow.

I touch a face suddenly and it murders me.

I have no time.

Do not look for me when drawing

the usual wild thread or the

bleeding net.

Do not call me: that is my occupation.

Do not ask my name or my condition.

Leave me in the middle of my own moon

in my wounded ground.