It would be good to give much thought, beforeyou try to find words for something so lost,for those long childhood afternoons you knewthat vanished so completely —and why?
We're still reminded—: sometimes by a rain,but we can no longer say what it means;life was never again so filled with meeting,with reunion and with passing onas back then, when nothing happened to usexcept what happens to things and creatures:we lived their world as something human,and became filled to the brim with figures.
And became as lonely as a sheperdand as overburdened by vast distances,and summoned and stirred as from far away,and slowly, like a long new thread,introduced into that picture-sequencewhere now having to go on bewilders us.
