A peasant girl conjured by song, her story-
    and my tower of arguments 
         tumbles right away.
Guardians of my status quo 
     thin like smoke
           and are gone.
I myself bead with sweat 
     to establish a homestead
          where the lark and the kite soar free.
And if morning tide shows my holy fever
     cured and way downstream
          let me shiver in a frost of June, 
eyes downcast 
      to endure the world 
           as I invent it.