Devotion

by Patti Smith

I feel a wave of nostalgia induced by the perfect present.

I feel a wave of nostalgia induced by the perfect present.

These streets are a poem waiting to be hatched—

It occurs to me that the young look beautiful as they sleep and the old, such as myself, look dead.

Silence. Passing cars. The rumble of the subway. Birds calling for dawn. I want to go home, I whimpered. But I already was.

Only the relics of consumption wrapped in the silk of existence

Twirling about giddily, she experienced the melancholy luxury of solitary joy.

I saw it all before me, in an instant that instantly disappeared, yet made its mark.

where the mind must bow to instinct.

Each star plays its part; each has its own place.

—Some things melt before they become memories.