Reflection: I

In the midst of my suffering, I have seen no moons or wild beasts,
and my dreariness grows colder than all of Autumn passing. 
I am no more a fool than a child, with wants and needs. 
I am you, nothing more and nothing less: visceral, growing, and transient. My words too reach my mouth, piercing the evening sky like a dying, fickle star - dark and bright.