The Street Has Changed

Randall Jarrell

Summer 1945


In the city that ruled me
The heads turn to another head.
I am forgotten like a year.
Was I good? was I happy?
Who is there to care?
I was a dream, a dream, the dream of the dead.


Had you sucked no more sense than I
From that undifferentiating misery
The new beast draws home
Old to his old blood: to blood brackish, not with tears
But with the salt of that first hopeful sea
That saw commence as one and new
The old and separate you and me?


What were you? It is too late to learn
And it does not matter. I thought you
Mine, that was not true, I thought you
All that I had, all that I could ever
Wish to have or have, and that was true.
And that does not matter either. What were you?
What does it matter? I love you
And who knows now, who would care if he knew?

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