Yes

Yes, your childhood now a legend of fountains —jorge gullén Yes, your childhood, now a legend gone to weeds, still remembers the gray road that set out to cross the desert of the future. And how, always just ahead, gray water glittered, happy to be just a mirage. Who steps off the gray bus at the depot? Sidewalks shudder all the way home. Blinds close their scratchy eyes. Who settles in your old room? Sniffy air sprawls as if it owns the place, and now your teenage secrets have no one to tell. For the spider laying claim to the corner, there is a stickiness to spin, that the living may beg to be wrapped in silk and devoured, leaving not even the flinch from memory.