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nunia
9/28/2006 10:39:00 PM
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A Certain Music --by Muriel Rukeyser Never to hear, I know in myself complete that naked integrated music; now it has become me, now it is nerve, song, gut and my gross hand writes only through Mozart; see even in withholding what you have brought to me Renewed, foolish, reconciled to myself, I walk this winter-country, I fly over its still-flock'd clouds always in my isolated flesh I take that theme's light certainty of absolute purpose to make quick spirit when spirit most might break. Naked you walked through my body and I turned to you with this far music you now withhold. O my destroyed hope! Though I never again hear developing heaven, the growing grave-bearing earth, my poem, my promise, my love, my sleep after love, my hours, listening, along that music move, and have been saved and hardly know the cold.
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