On this rueful menu

Of sprawls of blanked windows,

The world seems in retreat.

Nowhere is idyllic,

No place remains the same.

Our damp minds shed some tears

Of unknown provenance;

Nothing belongs to us.

The old ones, lying flat,

Unburied, unreplaced,

Stretch out beyond our dreams,

Beyond our memories.

Lost in our foulest mood,

Are we still visible?