Now My Belly Is As Noble As

The Poet Is An Untier Of Knots, And Love Without Words Is A Knot, And It Drowns.

Let The Radiance Of My Enthusiasms Envelop The Poor Courtyard And The Bare Classroom. Let My Heart Be A Stronger Column And My Goodwill Purer Gold Than The Columns And Gold Of Rich Schools.

In The Secret Of Night, My Prayer Climbs Like The Liana, My Prayer Is, And I Am Not. It Grows, And I Perish. I Have Only My Hard Breath, My Reason And My Madness. I Cling To The Vine Of My Prayer. I Tend It At The Root Of The Stalk Of Night.

What The Soul Is To The Body, So Is The Artist To His People.

Let The Earth Look At Me, And Bless Me, For Now I Am Fecund And Sacred, Like The Palms And The Furrows.