I want the river to lose its way.
I want the wind to quit the valley.

I want the night to lose its sight,
and my heart its flower of gold;

the cattle to speak to the great leaves,
and the worm to die of shadows;

the teeth on the skull to shine,
and the silk to be drowned in yellows.

I can see wounded midnight's duel
struggling, knotted, with noon light.

I resist the broken arch, where time suffers,
and the green venom of twilight.

But do not make a black cactus,
open in reeds, of your nakedness.

Leave me afraid of dark planets,
but do not show me your calm waist.