THERE are no gods, and you can please
yourself
have a game
of tennis, go out in the car, do some shopping,
sit and talk, talk,
talk
with a
cigarette browning your fingers.
There are no gods, and you can please yourself
—
go and please yourself —
But leave me alone, leave me alone, to
myself!
and then in
the room, whose is the presence
that makes the air so still and lovely to
me?
Who is it that softly touches the sides of my
breast
and touches
me over the heart
so
that my heart beats soothed, soothed, soothed and at
peace?
Who is it smooths the bed-sheets like the
cool
smooth ocean
when the fishes rest on edge
in their own dream?
Who is it that clasps and kneads my naked feet, till
they unfold,
till
all is well, till all is utterly well? the lotus-lilies of the
feet!
I tell you, it is no woman, it is no man, for I am
alone.
And I fall
asleep with the gods, the gods
that are not, or that are
according to the soul’s
desire,
like a pool
into which we plunge, or do not plunge.