I return to the street where I exerted
So much indifference in my youth.
Now, the indifference is inverted--
No one minds me at all.
The faces (and they are many, and all unfamiliar)
Are so bright with stories
I can't even imagine them.
The shadows locked in a death grip
Remind me that I am alone here,
Except of course for the ghost of my youth,
Who floats above the gas lamp,
Chasing itself in circles.
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