I don't feel at home where I am,or where I spend time; only where,beyond counting, there's freedom and calm,that is, waves, that is, space where, when there,you consist of pure freedom, which, seen,turns that Gorgon, the crowd, to stone,to pebbles and sand . . . where life's mean-ing lies buried, that never let onecome within cannon shot yet.From cloud-covered wells untoldpour color and light, a feteof cupids and Ledas in gold.That is, silk and honey and sheen.That is, boon and quiver and call.That is, all that lives to be free,needing no words at all.