I reject the North because it is not
my native ground, and I reject the
South because it rejected me, and I
reject European clutterment because
we fought to put that ocean between
us: I identify with no sort or kind:
I am by myself: with me is the
thinking up and writing of this poem:
I am for the poem: it tells me who
I am: as the poem becomes itself,
so, I hope, do I: it is sad and
simple, yet true: if anyone loved
me, or if I loved, I would be loving,
I would not be writing: I have not
found any way yet to be what I want
to be: I’m looking: I’m writing as
hard as I can . . .