|The shadow play, through dirty windows, of morning light on a basement wall|
Book I Things Do Happen
(opens in shadows)
What went on before I was or did.
And then I was born.
(there might be light)
What went on that I can hardly remember.
(certain shapes appear)
I might have learned to read.
Writing doesn't come easily; I'd rather draw a tree.
(a trajectory perhaps)
Things go on happening that I'd like to report; things go on that I'd rather forget.
(the road runs on)
Sometimes, memory fails me, and this, too, becomes something I fear.
(the cliff edge)
Things neglected; things left to happen.
(pebbles scrabble over the edge)
I know I'll die but I'm not dead yet.