As I walk down the street,
The sun is in my head
In an annoying sort of fashion
That doesn't let me think of you.
It rather only makes me squint.

This distortion of the world,
Without you and without proportion,
Almost seems to go together,
In a logical sort of fashion.

By now my head had almost lost proportion,
From the baking in the sun,
So I'm going to find shade now.
In an urgent sort of fashion.

Now that shade is in abundance,
It is easier to see the disproportionate
World of blinking eyes
Is not even worth conceiving.

I long for you.