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.