I know of the joy that is in living; the sweet zeer of plainest water,

the sky like a woman on all fours, starred from navel to nipples.

I know the relief of the dawn, a cool cotton sheet pulled up and over,

the kindness of a breeze. I know how lucky we are to see

ourselves in everything, but bigger, stronger and forever—

though still subject to our moods. I stash treasure about me:

shade; old worlds; an alabaster, oviform box that I recall though

I cannot touch. Inside I will discover, finally, the secret

to feeling well. I know that though nothing is really numberless

I shall never exhaust all the riches to be found. I too would choose

to take the best parts with me. But I know it does not matter

how many walls, how few doors. I know I am coming for me.

I know the dead abandon all their wonderful things to the living.