From my rented attic with no earth br To call my own except the air-motes, br I malign the leaden perspective br Of identical gray brick houses, br Orange roof-tiles, orange chimney pots, br And see that first house, as if between br Mirrors, engendering a spectral br Corridor of inane replicas, br Flimsily peopled. br But landowners br Own thier cabbage roots, a space of stars, br Indigenous peace. Such substance makes br My eyeful of reflections a ghost's br Eyeful, which, envious,would define br Death as striking root on one land-tract; br Life, its own vaporous wayfarings.