A Cousin in His Tower

"Love may be my motto,
but evil was my muse.
The falling winter
had no path
to a deeper darkness
than mine.
I rejoice in a regiment of cloud banks
worrying the horizon, and the wintry tongue
between the ewer and its sagely blank
plate. Oh, I like dogs, children,
birdsong tufted between the rafters
in the morning, and a ripe peach.
Ataraxy, apatheia, night, emptiness
make between them much sweetness.
A demijohn of tears
with which I rinse my palate,
then I am gone, from the window,
like solitary laughter.
Love may be my motto,
but an evil imagination gave me power.
Pride, arrogance, the sovereign Self:
Ego kept me alive."