Come out here where the roses have opened.
Let soul and world meet.
The sun has drawn a fine-tempered blade
of light. We may as well surrender.
Laugh at the ugly arrogance you see.
Weep for those separated from the friend.
The city seethes with rumor.
Some madman has escaped the prison.
Or is a revolution beginning?
What day is it?
Is this when all we have done and been
will be publicly known?
With no thinking and no emotion,
with no ideas about the soul,
and no language,
these drums are saying how empty we are.