What the soul wants is spring, the body
wrapped around the soul wants peace. And the day
always looking for the opposite wants night
but has only flecks and particles.


The beginning. The End.


The day is always lacking.
What the soul wants is life, and the body
burns white-hot and wants water.


What the soul has is silence.


And the body gathers in its own blood rush.


In night. In winter.


Two white swans on a black lake,
the Chinese poet wrote, 
they touch the water


and the water touches them.