it’s hard to see the past
as an adult - all the terror
misunderstandings of words
and scents: such reflections
come upon us as we age
devour our stature, stain
our clothes until we just
respond with a calmness
reserved for yeats
W.B. Yeats: “But I, being poor,
have only my dreams; I have
spread my dreams under your
feet; Tread softly because you
tread on my dreams.”
