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It's just by chance, who you are, but given myself I take care of this being. Nobody else will remember its hunger, cold, loneliness: I will be reminded, and care. This face, like an old watch, I carry wherever I go. Grandmothers, grandfathers, you pictures, you should forgive my regret: my wanting another. I carry it as you did. It belongs somewhere, and I am taking it there. On corners I let the wind have all the world, and I turn as a ship accepts the waves but is itself and has a voyage built into it, stubbornly. The choice of being who you are is offered us, or being nothing. The mask of myself is an old gift nobody else took. So I brought it here. |