Gathering the threads of what I am
and amen't going to do
for the rest of rolling eterne,
or twenty years, or two:
I shall eat vegetables twice a day,
thread fingers through your hair,
wash the dishes once a week,
and bring myself to despair.
I shall run sometimes and lift up weights
and wander out under the sky,
I shall read the books that prove me wrong,
and ready myself to die.
The sandpipers run in and out with the wave
the monk runs in and out with the breath:
I rise with the sun and examine my hands,
and sleep with the moon a-purr on my chest.