Fleas interest me so much
that I allow them to bite me for hours.
They are perfect, ancient, Sanskrit,
machines that admit of no appeal.
They don't bite to eat,
they bite only to jump;
they are the dancers of the celestial sphere,
delicate acrobats
in the softest and most profound circus;
let them gallop upon my skin,
divulge their emotions,
amuse themselves with my blood,
but someone should introduce them to me.
I want to know them closely,
I want to know what to rely on.