IN cold blood, I cannot feel goddesses in the summer
evening
trafficking
mysteriously through the air.
But what right has my blood to be
cold
before I am
dead?
If I cut my
finger, my blood is hot, not cold.
And even in cold blood I know this:
I am more alive, more aware and
more wise
when my
blood is kindled:
and when, in the summer evening
I feel goddesses trafficking mysteriously
through the air.