I want there to be no channel for the water. I want there to be no valleys for the wind.

I want there to be no eyes for the night,
no flower of gold for my heart;
and I want the oxen to talk to the big leaves,
and the earthworm to die of the shadow,
and I want teeth in the skull to gleam,
and the yellow to wash over the silk.

I can see the struggle of wounded night
wrestling in coils with midday.
I can endure a sunset green with poison
and the broken arches where time suffers.
But do not show me your immaculate nude
like a black cactus open in the reeds.
Leave me in longing for shadowy planets,
but do not show me the cool of your waist.