I want nothing from life but a shack on the water; warm water and that is all.
I will become nothing, hold no esteem, and decay with the rest, until I am bones.
And then where will my life find meaning?
Between the mouths of a generation or two, then silence.
Undulating streets rise with the wind and fall with the leaves.
This is not the place of my birth. (Why am I here, why have I come to these streets?)
Silver sunlight has brought me here, silver clouds will take me back.
I will grow fat on the days, well with dreams in the night.
2003
