This is not I.
I had no body once-only what served my need to laugh and runand stare at stars and tentatively danceon the fringe of foam and wave and sand and sun.
Eyes loved, hands reached for me, but I was goneon my own currents, quicksilver, thistledown.
Can I be trapped at last in that soft face?
I stare at you in fear, dark brimming eyes.
Why do you watch me with that immoderate plea-"Look under these curled lashes, recognizethat you were always here; know me-be me."Smooth once-hermaphrodite shoulders, too tenderlyyour long slope runs, above those sudden shycurves furred with light that spring below your space.
No,
I have been betrayed.
If I had knownthat this girl waited between a year and a year,
I'd not have chosen her bough to dance upon.
Betrayed, by that little darkness here, and herethis swelling softness and that frightened starefrom eyes I will not answer; shut out herefrom my own self, by its new body's grace-for I am betrayed by someone lovely.
Yes,
I see you are lovely, hateful naked girl.
Your lips in the mirror tremble as I refuseto know or claim you.
Let me go-let me be gone.
You are half of some other who may never come.
Why should I tend you?
You are not my own;you seek that other—he will be your home.
Yet I pity your eyes in the mirror, misted with tears;
I lean to your kiss.
I must serve you;
I will obey.
Some day we may love.
I may miss your going, some day,though I shall always resent your dumb and fruitful years.
Your lovers shall learn better, and bitterly too,if their arrogance dares to think I am part of you.
