My friend, each time we strain to survive, more or less
through sequences and signs
in which occurrence becomes what it may
how hard it is to observe a mood in the present.

Opaque sentences in a door's hold are startled and probable
as if we could close ourselves and live lower
in luck that falls when wind outside
fingers time, and time examines everything that depends.

I see you're able slowly to shake what's passing
and forget what you've blamed
because it started with you.
But if there's nobody, what must you replace?

Deeper than any flame's deathly sparkle
or beyond the table and chairs that shadow walls
it's written in whatever is chosen, opened
vast as a thread that touches margins and nights.