There Are Not Many Kingdoms Left

I write the lips of the moon upon her shoulders.

In atemple of silvery farawayness I guard her to rest.  For her bed I write a stillness over all the swans of theworld.

With the morning breath of the snow leopard Icover her against any hurt.  Using the pen of rivers and mountaintops I store herpillow with singing.  Upon her hair I write the looking of the heavens atearly morning.  — Away from this kingdom, from this last undefiledplace,

I would keep our governments, our civilization, andall other spirit-forsaken and corrupt institutions.  O cold beautiful blossoms of the moon moving uponher shoulders . . . the lips of the moon moving there . . .
where the touch of any other lips would be a profanation.