"In constant irregular metamorphosis,
I would sometimes stare at the water
Sometimes reflecting a face,
Sometimes nothing at all."
The Old Young Man stared at the stars,
Chose a direction North.
Along his walk, he would sometimes lose his way;
Sometimes would he lose his eyes,
Erased by the blowing wind.
Sometimes would he lose his lungs,
Filled with heavy molten lead.
Sometimes would he lose his mind,
Spinning in a never ending cycle.
"In constant irregular questioning,
A swan would sometimes land on the water,
Sometimes sending ripples,
To erase my reflections."
The old young man's ribs now dissolved to ranges far.
Sometimes he would drown in the abyss of his ribs.
Sometimes, to the skies of his ribs, the swan would carry him in her arms.