I speak alone because
I do not know his answers.

And yet, you want to be heard.

I want to tell him that I have
Closed and sealed my skin.

Baby, I told you, love can hurt.

I have exiled my heart.

This is a lonely, lonely world,
Even with a lover.

Since I know the difference
Between believing and being in love

Oh! you know nothing.

I have stopped
My frantic search
For the Buddhas

Only they came to you,
In ones, twos, tens.

When I thought of
Yasodhara, his wife
Left behind alone and
Large with child . . .

What about the good things, eh?
Recollect them. Remember that
Memory is a mere vending machine . . .