The lilacs don't hurt me this year,
and I'm unsure if this is because I grow numb
or merely accustomed to you dead,
or something else I become,
unknown, and thus uncharted,
for my map is old and the territory is new,
without signposts or pathways;
it is pure passage I merge into.
Thus quite simple is what I learn:
It is forward, forward, no matter which way I turn.