In these strange and mysterious days, o,
when we are stripped bare of choirs
to sing hallelujahs in praise of fires
we had in our hearts to make darkness go,
we are lost in mazed relativities,
underinvested in love, passion-free,
without existential proclivities,
and fallen fruit not far from the c-word tree.
Language is how we express consciousness;
how we negotiate what's real, what's not;
how we learn to name the animals; bless
the children; cry to night, Hilf mir mein Gott!
I grow old by the hour and my senses wane.
The disappearing man who lived in vain.