The day was full of rain and strange
Whereby the streets lay soaked and mad;
I paced about with winnowing mind as
That which ( I ) no longer had
Came sinking without concepts through
Which one could find a word to say;
The world was tired, so was ( I ) –
And full of rain and strange, the day.
…
And one remembers, one drank tea:
How very odd a memory –
The pressing ache of no goodbye,
The loss of
[ you ]
the end
of
( i )
Very good!
those moments, we digest for decades — though the morsel enters our mouths unchosen