For once I have no rhyme; I have a single thread in hand
Sufficient, taut, but lacking will, the fleeing of the day
Gains nothing more than hopes that though these seeds withstand
Incessant winds and in this land with others waiting, held at bay,
The times will once again point out the way
To action: I have been and am alone too long,
And while I sought this place, I cannot stay:
The air’s too close; the light, the pattern’s wrong.
From the womb in solitude–‘I could not bear it all
Forever. And when I leave this place, I’ll sing
Again, and join the others in the hall
Who wait for me, who cause the bells to ring.
Solitudes–‘these friends, these single drops–so deeply call:
I did not make myself nor does a single drop a waterfall.