So how can it be that my life
has not become a sweltering series
of orgiastic celebration?

I mean, I know from the recording
of my original passion that I've been
baptized in the obligation of surrender-

          "come to me woman and tell me
           are you of the sun or the moon
           come to me man and tell me
           are you of the land or the sea
           cause I love you dearly
           and I must know"

And yet, here I am still burdened
by the routines and the fears
for my children's fortunes.

I'm grateful and all, no doubt,
but I still refuse to hear death's call
until you and I perform our
          scandalous, sacrificial acts

that will force death to approach
with at least a little more candor,
at least pretending to be my friend.