The Young Prince and the Young Princess

The grass cuts our feet as we wend our way

Across the meadow-you, a child of thirteen

In a man's business suit far too big for you

A symbol of how long we have been together.

I pick the berries for us to eat

Into a tin can and set it on a stump.

Soon or late, lateness comes.

Crows come up out of the west.

I want you to examine this solid block of darkness

In which we are imprisoned. But you say, No,

You are tired. You turn over and sleep.

And I sleep, but in my sleep I hear horses carrying you away.

When the breeze is finished it is morning

Again. Wake up. It is time to start walking

Into the heavenly wilderness. This morning, strangers

Come down to the road to feed us. They are afraid to have us come so far.

Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side

Night comes, but this time it is a different one.

Your feet scarcely seem to touch the grass

As you walk; you have confidence in me;

Moths bump my incandescent head

And I hear the wind. And so it goes. Some day

We will wake up, having fallen in the night

From a high cliff into the white, precious sky.

You will say, 'That is how we lived, you and I.'