XXIII
Where I walk I see doors
and it's not clear
and it's not simple.
Where I walk I see women
and the women twist themselves
along branches.
A wall to the left, a wall to the right
and moss everywhere, to make it even darker.
Will I see the fountain where the water becomes ebony
becomes boat, becomes oar
and hurls itself?
Will I see the fountain which becomes feather
becomes eagle
becomes space?
Will I see mounted men
gallop toward the mountain-top
from where water gushes
into the water which permits sight
where I see an island
where I walk
where all the men and all the women
together
row towards the stars?
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