in my song of anger there is an egg
and in this egg are my mother, my father and my children,
and in this whole there is joy and sorrow mixed and life.
great tempests that rescued me,
beautiful sun that thwarted me,
there is hate in me, strong and ancient,
and as for beauty, we’ll see down the track.
indeed i have hardened only in slithers;
if only you knew how soft i remain within.
i am gong and cotton wool and snowy song,
i say so and i’m sure.