if i when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,—
if i in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
“i am lonely, lonely.
i was born to be lonely,
i am best so!”
if i admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
again the yellow drawn shades,—
who shall say i am not
the happy genius of my household?
~ william carlos williams
