I live in a town that lives.
Austere shadows play in the gray weather
-the night waits to extinguish them.
(Others see the sun)

How I wish I had a shadow that followed me.
And in my final day
I’d greet it as a friend it took a long time to meet.

There’s little to say of a life of almosts.
Songs are written for great deeds
And poetry for nothing.

At least, at least
This nothing has my all.