I keep thinking how if I were a hermit-monk
I wouldn't know a thing had changed
not unless an angel came and told me: pray
for night has fallen at midday--
if I lived alone atop a mountain, with only
wind and stone and sky, everything
would be the same. I wouldn't feel the weight
of this sudden brotherhood of novices
wouldn't hear them pacing in their cells at night,
groaning and not sleeping. All my life I wanted silence,
space. Now cries crowd my ears, suddenly my cave
feels like a cage, I want to rush down into someone's arms
suddenly I see that I am bleeding. All my life I thought
if no one touched me I'd be safe; suddenly I don't believe it.
