Time marks us while we are marking time.

So much of adolescence is an ill-defined dying, An intolerable waiting, A longing for another place and time, Another condition

I trust all joy

How body from spirit slowly does unwind, until we are pure spirit at the end.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.
My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?