Dove io trovo morte, it didn't work. The idea was to escape,
Not to hang around hoping for a handout. I carry the forest
With me that the forest has always carried within it. So I'm here,
When I thought I'd be nowhere. Now what can I do? Slip
Into your enchanted forest before you know I've entered you.
Here I am, you think to yourself, but you're already prone
To thinking you're me, lying prone at the bottom of the ravine
Thinking it didn't work, in the words of an Italian dead
Seven centuries before me now slipped into me. He he. What is this
Bird whose wings cut out those stars the branches let me see?
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