I talk about the gods, I am an atheist.
But I am an artist too, and therefore a liar.
Distrust everything I say. I am telling the truth.
(Ursula K. Le Guin, The Left Hand of Darkness)
I worried. Always I worried: both noun and adjective and verb.
Did I contradict myself, I worry. Yet today
I watched the sun stipple and ripple
Across above under a lens of brilliant sapphire green.
I was Dorothy, but Oz was not a lie needing
A heart, a brain, some courage, or a few balls.
I sat in the sunshine and tasted the sound of the strawberry as it swung;
The touch of the cold as it played. A library, vast and forever,
Lent me a window, and through it I voyaged
From Hanoi down the Mekong via Sukhothai
And found my way home overland: resplendent on a daydream,
Even as I sat in the bowels of a bloated serpent
Telling me to mind the gap
In three different correct languages. I worried
That my worrying had come to nothing so
I learnt from the play of the light the play of the cold
I took my young body into the light and
I sang, yellow.
And it’s such a perfect day.