I was an idle child, hiding silently
behind old curtains, concealing my gaze
to the rain-dampened street
that beckoned me beyond the window.

There was an unquenchable thirst, a burning,
Irrepressible drive, which had followed me
Whispering down the nape of my neck,
Provoking me, summoning me
To the uncertain depths
Of the flower-bearing forest.

It has followed me well into the age
Where the fancies of childhood
Are replaced
By *****, drunken nights—
hunting, scavenging, like some id-ridden
savage, for the fleeting taste of adventure
that was suppressed  with painful gratuity
as we grounded our souls, and our longings
into the confines of the world.