O lonely man,
the long, long rope of blood,
the belly’s rope that swung you from your mother,
that dark trapeze your flesh descended from
unwillingly and with too much travail,
has now at last been broken lastingly—

You must turn for parentage toward the void,
you must remember further back than flesh,
for your first mother was not warm with blood,
no, she was cold with rock and white with fire
and deathless in her long embrace with time!
             Look back that way—
             Is there another way for you to go?