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Looking

I look at my old age
As I do my childhood:
Vague images of streets and names
Where I feel a soft happiness
Severed from who I am now.
Incidents of who I was
And who I might be
Feel the same to me.
The games I once played
Carry the same lucid nostalgia
As the walks I'll take
Wherever I'll be.
And just as, somewhere
In the beginning, I was born
On a day I cannot remember,
So somewhere in the end
There is a death
I can never know.

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