Song

The weight of the world
      is love.
Under the burden
      of solitude,
under the burde
      of dissatisfaction

   the weight,
the weight we carry
      is love.

Who can deny?
      In dreams
it touches
      the body,
in thought
      constructs
a miracle,
      in imagination
anguishes
      till born
in human—

looks out of the heart
      burning with purity—
for the burden of life
      is love,

but we carry the weight
      wearily,
and so must rest
      in the arms of love
at last,
      must rest in the arms
of love.

No rest
      without love,
no sleep
      without dreams
of love—
      be mad or chill
obsessed with angels
      or machines,
the final wish
      is love
—cannot be bitter,
      cannot deny,
cannot withhold
      if denied:

    the weight is too heavy

—must give
for no return
      as thought
is given
      in solitude
in all the excellence
      of its excess.

The warm bodies
      shine together
in the darkness,
      the hand moves
to the center
      of the flesh,
the skin trembles
      in happiness
and the soul comes
      joyful to the eye—

yes, yes,
      that’s what
I wanted,
      I always wanted,
I always wanted,
      to return
to the body
      where I was born.

San Jose, 1954