I cannot recall where I woke up
this morning. I am not unused to
this. It is a long-held state of affairs,
and true, and even a metaphor
that only the lonely are free—
I claim no such grandiosity,
what with the friends and family
dying all around me (a metaphor),
nor shall I belabour the details
in that peculiar and disjointed
manner of my contemporaries,
but I have a castle, and it is white
and truly, honestly—not without
forceful and unbefitting recollection—
its place at dawn is lost. Perhaps
the emptiness on the hill, with
the steps, and the dead grass
(some strangers saw me there)
but no more. I cannot recall,
nor shall I remember, where I will
build my castle for this next dawn.