I will leave behind me the dark ravine, and climb up gentler slopes toward that spiritual mesa where at last a wide light will fall upon my days. From there I will sing words of hope, without looking into my heart. As one who was full of compassion wished: I will sing to console men.
The crimson rose / plucked yesterday, / the fire and cinnamon / of the carnation, // the bread I baked / with anise seed and honey, / and the goldfish / flaming in its bowl. // All these are yours, baby born of woman, / if you’ll only go to sleep.