I walk along the tram line: night now deep
I hear the teasing of some life of the past:
‘You are like a broken tram—
there is no depot, you don’t need wage
Alas, when has this occurred! ’
That old life sinks behind
The star in the sky, in darkness.
Which way to go? The quiet city has not answer.
She is just spread over,
Like the God of the believer.
Thursday, January 1, 2009