Is it lonely to stand so tall?
A mountain with nothing, no one else, in its view.
Is it dry to find you have no fear left,
and to know that the length of the universe is nothing but however many steps you take?
Is it terrible to be infinitely alive?
To have nowhere else, no end, no way to die?
how long is it, exactly, to be free?
I want a life that is a secret shore,
that no one else but my Love would know.
I would weep and heal there.
I would love and die there.
I would see the most beautiful sunset and take no picture to show someone or sell somewhere.
I would see the magnificence of water and the sun,
Of the moon and the mount
Of the wolves and the hunt
Of the colours of her crown.
I would see where things begin and end, but tell no one.
Because, to speak of that
would be to crack the perfect cup.
To know is to hurt.
Because knowledge is pain
It hurts where the world broke your skin,
where the light came flooding in,
where an old beast used to sleep.
To know is to bear the weight;
to always carry a wide, soft, jupiterian-gravity-like heaviness
on your shoulders ever-ready to brace.
To know is to hope and wait until opportunity emerges, or the time comes
to transfer it to another;
Not for any kind of real release—because that’s not possible once you know things—
but, for the simple reason of not being alone under a mountain’s weight.