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Time reproached me silently
For the guilty weight of my sins,
The voice of moments long departed.
The ghosts of what I had done and
What I had not cling tenaciously,
Thistledown I cannot blow
Or brush off from under the coat of my
Skin - an uncomfortable prickly lining
Of draining insubstantial weight.
In the night it is too warm and my
Skin weeps wordlessly into the bedclothes,
In the day it is too cold and my
Blood freezes in the cavern of my
Heart - ah, my punishment.

Time reproaches me silently
For the long ghostly mantle dragging
Behind me slowing me down, keeping me
Farther and farther away from
Keeping up with the unremitting
Plodding beat of life.