If by my nature I am not capable of you must I wear these clothes
Of sagging skin and failing sinew, feathered
With a chalk-dusting of grey.
Solomon in all his finery and the flowers of the field
Would not be capable of you in your golden moments,
When the stars shine just for you and the sun
Hides his head in shame and the moon
Caresses tenderly the sleeping earth
So as not to wake it, aware even in spring
Of its relative nakedness.
If I were a flag hurled down by the storm
Would not the ground trap me,
So must I go unnoticed
Daily, like in the night
An unlighted ship passes or
May I smash my heart's blood on your clay.