Where is the ode’s cry,
  or the eagle’s stare of wonder?

The world of things has caught me up
  on a river running rapidly,
making everything around me a blur, and myself
  anxious of what’s coming next.

Years ago I made friends with the shadows on my wall,
heard dreams in the rustling of the wind,
and remembered everything with a sharpness
  that made my eyes water.

And now, friends are hard to come by,
dreams are forgotten,
and memories – are only a memory.

Perhaps “benefit” is a word
whose meaning we’ve considered poorly.