49 This hidden link between us is my vocal cord, My navel-string, my life-belt and my leash. To walk this tightrope, I'm half-balanced and half-born. Two halves -- I follow you, you follow me. And, walking, I'm afraid of falling from this rope, Afraid of water, drying from this thirst. In need of talking, I'm afraid of getting hoarse. I feed on you, afraid of being lost. But even more I am afraid to be afraid, To pull the rope and push your step askew, To press the navel-string and make you feel the pain. Two halves -- you follow me, I follow you.


Confined Verse
Collected Poems