As I stand atop my little castle
all I do is look up and envy
and dream, with such fondness too
of days when I would throw it all away
and stake myself, once and perhaps forevermore
to reach ever greater heights\
originally written as prefact of “A pursuit of pure isolation”
I think I’ll put in a couple different variations of it, there is no one variation; better poets perhaps have the self-belief to discard all the other versions in favor of the one perfect one, but I don’t think I can, for I will find something beautiful in each of those; it would not have been written otherwise.