I ask for gray;
he gives me blue.
I ask for light;
he gives me night.

A willful god,
my god he is;
this god
who all the gods resist.

I write him poems;
he writes me songs.
I am his lyre;
he does me wrong.

I cannot stop
this love I feel
it turns my heart into a wheel.

I turn and turn
and only see
that turning brings me
back to me.

What kind of love
is this that stings
and brings me
to this narrow road?

We climb and climb
and never see
an ending to this misery.

He looks ahead
and I am found.
He looks behind
and I am gone.

We are a paradox
this man and me–
a story,
a myth,
a mystery.