I am my little world, said he, And round about my soul unfurled for all to see The pennants of my lifeline flutter helplessly In the silent hurricane of this other me Tattered, unravelled seams of my humanity Trailing in sparkling threads of bright mortality.
There, there for all to see, he said, Save by the sighted blind, who have no tear to shed.
I am my little world, said he, A willed and willing player yet a hapless refugee Unsewing pennants' seams creatively Unpicking threads of fragility: Wrapping new lines round sense to help me be Inured to life's nonsense, and its keen insensibility.