I am from worn, broken-down nights and empty cries 
Opaque and obscure, as cold as winter nights, brisk and impure
From shattered, broken promises to aching, new lies
I am from the waking, whiplike whistle...the tapered, transcendent tracks of the trains
The beginning grotesque morning drizzle of the struggle called today
I am from tangible, silent laughs, quiet as an empty street on an undisturbed night and tears
From tart, bitter-sweet New Years and grievous fears
I am from the work of the abrasive, imprinted scar of yesterday
And from the lilac fragrance... hopes... of tomorrow