There are surely stars that are curling inward to die;
But I shall not know which.
There are surely insects in my walls that are eating each other;
But I do not see it.
Beneath my window,
Surely some lovers have parted each other, never to touch again;
But I do not know them.
I sever, I eat, I curl inward
To die as all things do,
I sense the rapture and sadness of others, knowing I do these things,
Without their knowing.
It is raining.