And sometimes when they look in the firethey see time going on and someone alone,but they don't say anything.

When I dream at night, they save a place for me,no matter how small, somewhere by the fire.

We are led one thing at a time to that pure gain -- all that we lose.

And all the time it's your own story, even when you think -- "It's all just made up, a trick. What is the author trying to do?" Reader, we are in such a story: all of this is trying to arrange a kind of prayer for you. Pray for me.

They tell how it was, and how timecame along, and how it happenedagain and again. They tellthe slant life takes when it turnsand slashes your face as a friend.

Some time when the river is ice ask memistakes I have made. Ask me whetherwhat I have done is my life. Othershave come in their slow way intomy thought, and some have tried to helpor to hurt: ask me what differencetheir strongest love or hate has made.