I have Spanish dancers in my stomach

         they're my arching striving in dance where it's black

red flowers darken to be huge pleasuring the

                severe, tried Angel who meets transition,

           transport, as abruptly as necessary

                                                  for everyone's are apt

Says the Unassuming Graceful

Whose down-hip-ness

Is that window

The dancers' sensuous flaw

That admits Spring,

Contingent upon our personality

Spring is for the worldly

                                                       just like the HaHa Room

                       Just like dearest rockbottom

                                                                  suddenly gone buoyant

                               

                                 To be black geese to be

                                 strenuous dancers

                                 is not to dignify a passion but to

                                 grip it.

                                        Not saints but always pupils

pupils dilated fully black in full achievement of

gut-feeling. Joy.

--from How Spring Comes; Alice Notley