I felt my heart beat like an engine high in the air,

Like those scaffolding engines standing only on planks;

My body hung about me like an old grain elevator,

Useless, clogged, full of blackened wheat.

My body was sour, my life dishonest, and I fell asleep.

I dreamt that men came toward me, carrying thin wires;

I felt the wires pass in, like fire; they were old Tibetans,

Dressed in padded clothes, to keep out cold;

Then three work gloves, lying fingers to fingers,

In a circle, came toward me, and I awoke.

Now I want to go back among the dark roots;

Now I want to see the day pulling its long wing;

I want to see nothing more than two feet high;

I want to see no one, I want to say nothing,

I want to go down and rest in the black earth of silence.