It
.
w
a
s
.
in
this
town . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
a
n
d
–
–
–
in
this
house . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
a
n
d
–
–
–
in
this
room . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
when
I
knew
.
n
o
t
.
what
.
t
o
.
do . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
~ I
knew
.
n
o
t
.
what
.
t
o
.
do
.
.
i
n
.
.
that
room . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
a
n
d
–
–
–
now,
–
–
only
.
t
h
e
.
tune
.
o
f
.
echoes
–
–
tells
.
t
h
e
.
truth . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
~ the
tune
.
o
f
.
echoes
–
–
tells
.
t
h
e
.
truth . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
a
n
d
–
–
–
no
matter
what,
.
o
r
.
who,
.
.
o
r
.
.
how
much,
.
o
r
.
how
few,
.
.
i
n
.
.
my
life
–
–
becomes
new . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
a
n
d
–
–
–
no
matter
–
–
how
frequent,
.
o
r
.
how
distant
–
–
I
try
.
t
o
.
move . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
the
tune
.
o
f
.
echoes
–
–
tells
.
t
h
e
.
truth . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
The
tune
.
o
f
.
echoes
–
–
tells
.
t
h
e
.
truth . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
The
tune
.
o
f
.
echoes
–
–
tells
.
t
h
e
.
truth . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
The
tune
.
o
f
.
echoes
–
–
tells
.
t
h
e
.
truth . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
a
n
d
–
–
–
consumes
.
t
h
e
.
mood . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
~ it
consumes
.
t
h
e
.
mood . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
in
this
town . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
in
this
house . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
a
n
d
–
–
–
in
this
room.
Reflection: This is a melancholy poem where the sufferer looks back on something that has greatly affected his or her life – perhaps something that he or she could have done something about but was unable to at the time for whatever reason (lack of strength, lack of experience, lack of courage, lack of confidence, whatever). I wrote most of this poem by listening to the wonderful, haunting gem of a song “White Gloves” by Khruangbin which I played repeatedly in the background to create the “moodset” for (and inspire) the writing of the poem. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.