I have wandered over the city aimless and homeless,
Hungered in mind and in body.
Days are not irksome in sunshine
And rain promises more when it ceases.
But the nights are so intimate
And the rays of one’s mind
Are perlucid.
Like a criminal tracing his steps
Back to the scene of iniquity,
I found myself in Horton’s neighborhood....
But the house was still closed for the summer.