Krishna Wanting The Moon
Mother, the moon I want as my toy
I will roll on the floor,
Not come to your lap,
Nor have my hair-braid combed
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Mother, the moon I want as my toy
I will roll on the floor,
Not come to your lap,
Nor have my hair-braid combed
Since you ask, most days I cannot remember
I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage
Then the almost unnameable lust returns
Even then I have nothing against life
Not the moon
A floweron the other side of the water
The water sweeps past in flood,dragging a whole tree by the hair,a barn, a bridge
The flowersings on the far bank