• 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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