What is, I want to know, the truth if there is —
Truth in the view of things I have, and what is
The source, if it’s mistaken, of its errors?
Do we come into life with minds and bodies
Ready to live in some ecstatic Paris,
Or is the limit of our lives more modest?
I don’t know what and why do I think
That my being so happy is so urgent
And important? It seems some kind
Of evidence of the truth as if
I could go back and take it? or do
I just want to hold what
There is of it now.