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.
