My heart is a black torch tonight, unflaming wood

My heart is a black torch tonight, unflaming wood

But I row and row in the dark, and turn on the light (at last)

Poetry is inner monologues (and it quarrels with me)

And is virtual reality, a model of a world

Written and poured reality, poured sorrow and dream

At times, I am an autistic child

Shrinking my world and dealing with it obsessively

Afterwards, I pave a way, and light enters my soul

(From now) the inner monologues dip in a little light -

I intend to Shulamith

(A hard interpretative work about the interactions:

Modifying a physical reality, turning it into a symbol)