If you will stand the stronger of us now;
if you will armor well (and better than
my self has done) against the fletched betrayal
of all the senses clamoring for that
they had and learned and grew addicted to
by every pulse desire ignites to flares;
if you will firm your spine with rods of steel;
if you will stay in your far, secret place,
nor ever move toward me, noon or night,
reality or dream; if you will stop
your mouth's remembrance of the syllables
that shape my name, the knowledge in your mind
(deep-etched by long familiarity)
that moves the spinning numbers to reach out
along the endless miles of wire, and ring
the world, like tocsins, in my hidden room --
I say to you, if you will do these things,
will let compassion build a sturdier wall
to hide all sight and stop all sound and touch,
then I may somehow learn that being lost
in alien galaxies of loneliness
can be adjusted to, and breath will lift
my breast, unasked -- and I may live again.
p. 43
