If light is as early as the first trill
Of a cuckoo that senses dawn at night

,

Then it might come to pass
That you will find me awake
Conjuring spells of enchantment
Of forget and wrath

;

Whilst in the mirror, you will find yourself
In images of the past
For I know not of how you are
And where you have been

;

Just a damp photograph
Keeps fluttering against the wind
Trapped by deadweight