Heart feels the time has come to compose lyric poetry.
No more storytelling for him. Oh, Moon, Heart writes,
sad wafer of the heart’s distress. And then: Oh, Moon,
bright cracker of the heart’s pleasure.
Dipping my cheekbones
into the blind substance,
into the cooling water of the maternal yes
The temple seems to listen as she describes its resident: “your lady a water bird — sacred woman of the inner chamber,” she says to the temple in the intimate conversation that characterizes each hymn.