XXIV
I will take off my coat and tie; unbutton
my collar; sit in a soft chair;
cross my legs and close my eyes;
open them only
to see the bush in front of the window
stir in the wind.
The bush in front of the window is crowded
with bunches of red flowers among the narrow leaves:
flowers and leaves
have the same colorless shadow.

The single fly that went jerkily about is
resting somewhere;
outside a bird is chirping slowly
a single note.
The room is growing dark,
but the brass knob of the closed door shines—
ready for use.

XXV
I would be the rock
about which the water is
flowing; and I would be the water flowing
about the rock.
And I am both and neither—
being flesh.