to your step,
Windows beckon,
Doorways open a square embrace.

Doors laugh gently
Swinging together
Behind you.

II. THE TOWER

There's a flag on my tower,
And my windows
Are orange to the night.
They are set in grey stone that frowns
At the black wind.

Inside, there's a guest at my hearth,
And a fire
Painting the grey stone gold.
My windows are black
With the hungry night peering through them.

Blackness lurks in corners,
Wind snatches the sparks,
Tongs and poker jangle together
Like the iron bones
Of a man that was hanged.

III. THEY WHO DANCE

The feet of dancers
Shine with mirth,
Their hearts are vibrant as bells:

The air flows by them
Divided like water
Cut by a gleaming ship.

Triumphantly their bodies sing,
Their eyes are blind
With music.

They move through threatening ghosts
Feeling them cool as mist
On their brows.

They who dance
Find infinite golden floors
Beneath their feet.

IV. PIANISSIMO

I took Night
Into my arms,
Night lay upon my breast.

If night had wings
She would have brought me
Stars for my hair.

The stars laughed
Lightly
From far away.

About my shoulders
White mist curled.

V. PORTRAIT BY ZULOAGA

Death lies in wait
For those who do not know
What they desire,
And Hell for those
Who fear what they have taken.

These hands are wrinkled
From stretching forth,
Brown
From the winds blowing upon them.

They are strong with seizing,
They do not tremble.

VI. GESTURES

Let there be dancing figures
On our wine-flask,
Swastikas on our rug,
Inscriptions in our rings
And on our dwelling.

Let us build ritual
For our worship,
Pledge our love
With vows and holy promises.

If oaths are broken,
Let it be darkly
With threatening gestures.

Thus we ignore
That we love and die
Like insects.

VII. VEILS

I shall punish your blindness
With a veil.

I shall choose words that join
Gaily word to word,
I shall weave them flauntingly
Into veil upon veil,

I shall wind them defiantly
Over my lips, over my eyes.

You shall not see your name
On my lips,
You shall not see your image
In my eyes!

And through my veils I shall not see
That you are blind.

VIII. FREEDOM

I would be free
From two old superstitions,
Thanks and Forgiveness.

So