The weight of the worldis love.
Under the burdenof solitude,under the burdenof dissatisfactionthe weight,the weight we carryis love.
Who can deny?
In dreamsit touchesthe body,in thoughtconstructsa miracle,in imaginationanguishestill bornin human—looks out of the heartburning with purity—for the burden of lifeis love,but we carry the weightwearily,and so must restin the arms of loveat last,must rest in the armsof love.
No restwithout love,no sleepwithout dreamsof love—be mad or chillobsessed with angelsor machines,the final wishis love—cannot be bitter,cannot deny,cannot withholdif denied:the weight is too heavy—must givefor no returnas thoughtis givenin solitudein all the excellenceof its excess.
The warm bodiesshine togetherin the darkness,the hand movesto the centerof the flesh,the skin tremblesin happinessand the soul comesjoyful to the eye—yes, yes,that's whatI wanted,
I always wanted,
I always wanted,to returnto the bodywhere I was born.
