I used to be a boy and my kingdom was day.

 

The world would come to me in lightning bolts: my mother

whispering and the steps military

of my father climbing the staircase.

 

In my room, looked after a wolf and a lamb

and a smell of camphor

went up even on afternoons turning to smoke.

 

They were lovely days.

 

Fights also, sometimes, and doors and barks.

 

Like this and all, I was a boy and on the table

lit my glass of milk like a candle.

 

Suddenly the night fell on my forehead

and I was a man barefoot in middle of path.