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Monologue of the Body1 Samuel Hazo   When I rub suede, my hands speak suede. Without my shoes I understand the languages of sand and stones and grass. Swimming, I return to what I was when I began, drifting in tides more ancient than the stars. Within my skin I summer always in the stopped and tropic Fahrenheit of Borneo. Ice burns like fever in the furnace of my mouth. My eyes drink everything I see. My ears consume entire symphonies. In a blood-rage I rave the way a woman once aroused tramples the fences of restraint. Of all my promised days I dedicate one-third to sleep, one third to obligation, and the rest to what I know because I feel. I live with wounds by day. By night I heal. © Samuel Hazo from Just Once: New and Previous Poems Autumn House Press, 2002 How to cite a webpage Comments and suggestions on the content and/or any problems with the display of this page would be appreciated by the webmistress. Thanks.