In this town, whose streets
I neither own nor roam
Unlike that village
Which really was my place
In this time, whose age
I both fear and crave
Unlike my youth
Lived out for all to chase
In this light, whose darkness
Checks all progress made
Unlike the dawn
More certain in its gaze
In this line, whose edge
In truth approaches plain
Unlike the poet
Who wanders in malaise
In this end, a stuttering fall
Which maybe came too too soon
Unlike the comet
Whose sparkles our spirits raise
