Hold me close
and tell me what the world is like
I donít want to look outside
I want to depend on your eyes
and your lips
I donít want to feel anything
but your hand
on the old raw bumper
I donít want to feel anything else
If you love the dead rocks
and the huge rough pine trees
Ok I like them too
Tell me if the wind
makes a pretty sound
in the billion billion needles
Iíll close my eyes and smile
Tell me if itís a good morning
or a clear morning
Tell me what the fuck kind of morning
it is
and Iíll buy it
And get the dog
to stop whining and barking
This isnít China
nobodyís going to eat it
Itís just going to get fed and petted
Ok where were we?
Ok go if you must.
Iíll create the cosmos
by myself
Iíll let it all stick to me
every fucking pine needle
And Iíll broadcast my affection
from this shaven dome
360 degrees
to all the dramatic vistas
to all the mists and snows
that moves across
the shining mountains
to the women bathing
in the stream
and combing their hair
on the roofs
to the voiceless ones
who have petitioned me
from their surprising silence
to the poor in the heart
(oh more and more to them)
to all the thought-forms
and leaking mental objects
that you get up here
at the end of your ghostly life

Unpublished poem from one of the notebooks.

Copyright © 2002 Leonard Cohen.
Reprinted with permission. All rights reserved.