My sword inhales old ghosts
Even as it draws new blood

A willingness to lie eases relations
But it conflicts with invisible things

It takes illusion to capture
And truth to hold:
No wonder there are such difficulties!

An element of habit
A sense of sin since senescence
Doubted into inaction

The tiresome ties of marriage and other commerce
Faith or other foolishness
A fling or a ring, whatever life brings
Melancholy, angst, mania—

But where are the songs of joy?

Avoid bodies that steam or smoke
Seek bodies that smile in sleep
Not knots but fulcrums

If you can love, you will love again
If you can trust, you may make a habit of it
If you can suffer, you'd damn well better dance