S ong

« The weight of the world 

is love. 

Under the burden 

of solitude, 

under the burden 

of dissatisfaction 

the weight, 

the weight we carry 

is love. 

Who can deny? 

In dreams 

it touches 

the body, 

in thought 

constructs 

a miracle, 

in imagination 

anguishes 

till born 

in human-- 

looks out of the heart 

burning with purity-- 

for the burden of life 

is love, 

but we carry the weight 

wearily, 

and so must rest 

in the arms of love 

at last, 

must rest in the arms 

of love. 

No rest 

without love, 

no sleep 

without dreams 

of love-- 

be mad or chill 

obsessed with angels 

or machines, 

the final wish 

is love 

--cannot be bitter, 

cannot deny, 

cannot withhold 

if denied: 

the weight is too heavy 

--must give 

for no return 

as thought 

is given 

in solitude 

in all the excellence 

of its excess. 

The warm bodies 

shine together 

in the darkness, 

the hand moves 

to the center 

of the flesh, 

the skin trembles 

in happiness 

and the soul comes 

joyful to the eye-- 

yes, yes, 

that's what 

I wanted, 

I always wanted, 

I always wanted, 

to return 

to the body 

where I was born. 

San Jose, 1954 »