Let us love the country of here below. It is real; it offers resistance to love.
I am a sacrifice bound with cords to the horns of the world's rock altar, waiting for worms. I take a deep breath, I open
my eyes. Looking, I see there are worms in the horns of the altar
like live maggots in amber, there are shells
of worms in the rock and moths flapping in my eyes.
A wind from noplace rises. A sense of the real
exults me; the cords loose; I walk on my way.