Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it

There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.

Everything people did seemed so silly, because they only died in the end.

And I a smiling woman. I am only thirty. And like the cat I have nine times to die.

I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly, as the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands. I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.

A fierce brief fusion which dreamers call real, and realists, an illusion; an insight like the flight of birds.

The sky leans on me, me, the one upright among all horizontals.