I had no clothes anymore. Naked, I was
Just somebody’s kid again. And everything
Had faces but I couldn’t see them,
Occupied as I was with radiance. As always,
There was a flower-based suffering but
I would be nineteen forever. In my hands,
Like horse hair, I gripped strong positive
Feelings: coarse, brilliant, not coming loose.
I could tell the horse which way to take me.
I said Joyward. Did this mean that I was truly
Blessed? The flower bosses shook at my
Innocence and the sun dropped its gold
Robes and sat beside me. It was impossible
To think then—the world too gorgeous, even
Personal, the world a blinding ankle—and we
Were as infants in our half-sleep, in the way
We spoke our secret minds.