'The Poem is the Angel of its Calling
My head so heavy I lay by your breast,And every breath carries the weight away.Though I live in a body that is dying,I die in a body your beauty blesses.
This it is for me to live as a man:Neither wrath nor revenge enslaving the nowTo a past no one can change, not even a god,Since the error of time is a perfect arrow,
And I would live, my face to the summons,So that the lives about me I can seeWhen I bequeath to them—the convergence rising—The present I redeemed from fatuous fate: With whatever pen you choose yourself to write,Remember the story you tell is yoursFor a moment only—then it belongsTo the emptiness men label history,
Where no one survives the maelstrom of liesExcept every day he lives his dyingBeseeching the serenity love bestowsOn the maker who confesses he is not his own.
My head so heavy I lay by your breast,And every breath carries the weight away.Though I live in a body that is dying,I die in a body your beauty blesses.
This it is for me to live as a man:Neither wrath nor revenge enslaving the nowTo a past no one can change, not even a god,Since the error of time is a perfect arrow,
And I would live, my face to the summons,So that the lives about me I can seeWhen I bequeath to them—the convergence rising—The present I redeemed from fatuous fate: With whatever pen you choose yourself to write,Remember the story you tell is yoursFor a moment only—then it belongsTo the emptiness men label history,
Where no one survives the maelstrom of liesExcept every day he lives his dyingBeseeching the serenity love bestowsOn the maker who confesses he is not his own.