Come instead into the forlorn solitude of self, Sultriest interlude of self and self, the self Doing little more when midnight booms Than romancing the forgotten moon, Dancing dunce-like on the dunes in the silky light, Alone among the waxy blooms that shine Up at her radiant round, their sultry mother. Down all the lonely aisles of neglected time, Come loiter here among the leaves' arsenic pallor. Make up a game for one, where time plays Lullabies into a pinking conch's soft-echoed ear, Mysterious residuum of your own rose pulse. Walk at ease along the forgotten beach Of self, the self's returning tide half black, Half white in moody moonlight, and no oar. Here on the beach, tallying the sea-drift, The self like a wisp of smoke ascends, Yes, ascends, invisibly to heaven. What use now the orgy crowd and clamping mask? No null numbers can add up all your sum. Alone with the veritable surf, alone with no one, No parade of pretense to hurrah you high And keep warm the solitude hid inside-- Mater moon must mother you, as she the leaves. Bathe by that light, dive in the veritable surf Arching back-and-forth before you argently. Swim until you are not what you were.