What about married people? – I beg to know.
My hands have withered and I am grey.
Hear what I have done – I have refused to sing.
There is more to music than sound;
More to dancing than movement.
What do these walls mean?
Why should we break them down?
Shadows, dust, caution – or freedom.
No longer an enemy,
I no longer squirm and punch
At that part of me I call the Watcher,
Having discovered that she is the Light.
I will grab your waist and shout in your face,
And then you will know me.
I will push you through desiring –
Food, sleep, people, gods –
Right to the deeps of despair.
Only then will you learn not to need them.
The wind brings me leaves;
I bring a lemon
To place before this tree.