The sail’s judged by the horizon: in the new life

I lost sight of the simmering volcano, saw palms

As new as my hands, freesias, water lilies

As large as my eyes. Clearer now that it lacks tears,

My voice has lost its passions, speaking now

Of me as it speaks of others. My face, my

Own, appears in the mirror, now as one.

Yes, I have grown old, yes: but the Junkers are gone,

And the thrush and the sparrow are here.