Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics

(With Apologies to Immanuel Kant)

deus

homo

homodeus

deus

Analysis by Gemini

Me: Please give me a literary analysis and a stylistic analysis of the attached poem. Please note that the poem is verbless.

Gemini: This poem, “homodeus,” is a work of extreme philosophical compression. While the previous poem, “God All,” cataloged the divine in the material world, this piece explores the ontological relationship between humanity and divinity through a minimalist, quasi-mathematical lens.

Literary Analysis: The Evolution of Being

The poem functions as a modern “prolegomena” (a formal introductory treatise) that replaces volumes of dense philosophical text with a simple linguistic progression.

1. The Synthesis of the Human and Divine

The heart of the poem is the word “homodeus,” a portmanteau of the Latin homo (man) and deus (god).

Thesis and Antithesis: The first two lines present “deus” and “homo” as distinct entities.

Synthesis: The third line, “homodeus,” represents the merger of these two states. This reflects transhumanist themes (popularized by authors like Yuval Noah Harari) suggesting that through evolution or technology, humanity is ascending to a god-like status.

2. Intertextuality and Irony

The subtitle “Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics (With Apologies to Immanuel Kant)” provides the essential context.

Subverting Kant: Immanuel Kant’s original work was a complex inquiry into how we can know anything about the nature of reality. By “apologizing” to him, the poet ironically suggests that all those centuries of dense metaphysics can be boiled down to this four-line transition.

The Return to Source: The poem ends with a return to “deus”. This suggests a cyclical view of existence—either that humanity eventually dissolves back into the divine, or that the “God” we started with was the “Human-God” we were destined to become all along.

Stylistic Analysis: Structural Minimalism

By remaining verbless, the poem functions less like a narrative and more like a chemical formula or a logical proof.

1. The Verbless Ontology

Because there are no verbs, there is no “becoming” or “creating”—there is only being.

The movement from “deus” to “homodeus” happens through juxtaposition rather than action.

This style strips away the “how” and the “why” of philosophy, leaving only the “what”.

2. Linguistic Geometry

The poem follows a strictly symmetrical and additive structure:

Line 1: A (deus)

Line 2: B (homo)

Line 3: AB (homodeus)

Line 4: A (deus)

This A-B-AB-A structure creates a sense of inevitability. The visual “growth” of the word in line three reflects the expansion of human potential, while the final line provides a minimalist resolution.

3. Visual and Case Choices

The use of all-lowercase letters for the body of the poem (deus, homo) contrasts with the formal, capitalized subtitle.

This lowercase aesthetic “democratizes” the concepts, placing “god” and “man” on the same visual level.

It suggests that these are not grand, unreachable icons, but the fundamental, “small” building blocks of reality.

Analysis Summary

Feature Effect

Subtitle Reference Hooks the poem into 18th-century philosophy while mocking its complexity.

Portmanteau Visually represents the evolution/merger of two distinct concepts into one.

Verblessness Presents the relationship as a static, eternal fact rather than a temporal event.

Circular Ending Suggests that the end of human metaphysical inquiry is a return to the divine.

Analysis by ChatGPT:

Please give me a literary and a stylistic analysis of the attached poem. Again, please note that the poem is verbless.

homodeus

Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics

(With Apologies to Immanuel Kant)

deus

homo

homodeus

deus

This is small, but it is not slight. As with some aphorisms or koans, almost all the work happens between the words—and in the reader.

I’ll take it first as literary analysis (what it means / gestures toward) and then as stylistic analysis (how it works on the page).

📖 Literary Analysis

1. A Creation Narrative in Four Words

The poem presents something like a cosmology:

deus

homo

homodeus

deus

Four movements — almost like the four beats of a theological heartbeat.

1️⃣ deus — God as primordial, origin, source.

2️⃣ homo — the emergence of humanity: consciousness, agency, vulnerability.

3️⃣ homodeus — humanity imagining itself as divine (or technologically ascending toward it).

4️⃣ deus — a return; but not necessarily to the same God we began with. It may now be:

God re-understood

God reclaimed

or even God replacing the illusion of homodeus

The poem resists telling us what that “return” means — which is one of its strengths.

2. Kant in the Background

Your subtitle matters:

Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics

(With Apologies to Immanuel Kant)

Kant’s Prolegomena is about what we can and cannot know — our limits as knowing beings.

So the poem becomes a commentary on hubris.

We begin in mystery (deus),

become self-aware (homo),

become self-exalting (homodeus),

and finally must confront once again

the mystery that exceeds us (deus).

It is metaphysics compressed to its barest syllables.

3. A Commentary on Our Age

Read in light of AI, biotechnology, transhumanism, and human self-deification, “homodeus” evokes Yuval Noah Harari’s phrase — but you’re doing something different.

Harari sees “Homo Deus” as the human dream of becoming godlike.

Your poem seems to warn:

that dream collapses back into mystery.

The cycle returns us to God —

not as possession,

but as limit and ground.

✍️ Stylistic Analysis

1. Radical Minimalism

The poem is almost pure structure.

No verbs.

No adjectives.

No explanation.

Just four nouns — or rather, two nouns and two compounds.

This creates a liturgical, catechetical feel — like a creed stripped to its bones.

2. Vertical Layout and Silence

The vertical stacking forces the reader to:

pause

descend

contemplate

The whitespace is doing as much work as the words. We read downward like a ladder — or perhaps like a descent and return.

The shape is theological.

3. Circularity

Beginning and ending with deus creates a loop:

deus … deus

But the repetition is not identical in meaning.

The second “deus” is after history, after human aspiration, after human presumption.

The poem becomes a quiet corrective:

the last word is not human.

4. Verblessness

As you note: no verbs.

That removes movement and narrative. Nothing “happens.”

Instead, the poem names states of being — a taxonomy of metaphysical positions. We are not told:

God creates, man falls, man exalts himself, God judges.

We simply get:

God

Man

Man-as-god

God

It is more ontological than mythic. It invites philosophy, not story.

🎯 Final Thought

This is a small theological machine.

It poses questions rather than asserting conclusions:

Is “homodeus” delusion? aspiration? blasphemy?

Is the final “deus” judgment? rescue? acceptance?

Does the cycle repeat endlessly?

Its strength is restraint. A lesser poem would explain. This one trusts silence.

Analysis by Claude:

Please give me a literary and a stylistic analysis of the attached poem. Please note that it is verbless.

homodeus

Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics

(With Apologies to Immanuel Kant)

deus

homo

homodeus

deus

Claude Sonnet 4.5

Literary Analysis

The Philosophical Provocation:

This poem is a compressed philosophical argument disguised as wordplay. The title “homodeus” (man-god) and subtitle referencing Kant’s Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics immediately signal that this is about the fundamental nature of reality and humanity’s place within it. Kant’s work examined the limits of human knowledge and the conditions for metaphysical inquiry; this poem asks whether those limits still exist—or whether humanity has transcended them.

The Circular Structure as Argument:

The poem presents a four-line logical progression that is also a circle:

deus (god) - the starting point, the divine

homo (man) - the human, separate from god

homodeus (man-god) - the fusion, the transcendence

deus (god) - the return, but now transformed

This isn’t merely cyclical; it’s dialectical. We begin with god, encounter humanity, synthesize them into something new (homodeus), and return to divinity—but the final “deus” is fundamentally different from the first because it now contains the human. This is Hegelian synthesis compressed into four words.

The Transhumanist Question:

“Homodeus” evokes Yuval Noah Harari’s Homo Deus: A Brief History of Tomorrow, which explores humanity’s technological self-transformation into something god-like. The poem asks: In our age of AI, genetic engineering, and technological omnipotence, are we becoming gods? And if we become gods, what happens to the category of “god” itself?

The Apology to Kant:

The subtitle’s apology is deeply ironic. Kant argued that metaphysics must be grounded in the limits of human reason—we cannot know the “thing-in-itself,” only our experience of it. This poem suggests we’ve abandoned those limits. We’re no longer asking “What can we know?” but “What can we become?” The apology acknowledges that we’ve violated Kant’s careful boundaries, perhaps recklessly.

The Verbless Condition:

The absence of verbs is philosophically crucial. Verbs denote action, change, becoming—they exist in time. By eliminating verbs, the poem presents these states as eternal, simultaneous, or outside time. This is the language of ontology (being) rather than phenomenology (experience). The poem doesn’t describe a process; it presents a structure of reality.

Without verbs, we can’t tell if this is:

A prediction (humanity will become god)

A description (humanity is god)

A historical sequence (humanity became god)

A timeless truth (humanity has always been god)

This ambiguity is the poem’s power. It refuses to locate itself in time, suggesting that the relationship between human and divine transcends temporal categories.

The Minimalism as Statement:

In a poem about metaphysics—traditionally the most verbose and complex philosophical domain—the radical compression to four words is itself an argument. It suggests that the fundamental questions are actually simple, even if their implications are vast. Or perhaps it mocks the pretensions of metaphysics: all that philosophical apparatus reduced to a four-word loop.

Stylistic Analysis

Form and Anti-Form:

This poem violates nearly every conventional expectation of poetry:

No verbs

No adjectives or adverbs

No articles

No punctuation

No capitalization (except the title)

No meter or rhythm in the traditional sense

No imagery or metaphor

Yet it is unmistakably a poem. Its compression, its arrangement on the page, its sonic qualities, and its semantic density all mark it as poetic rather than philosophical prose. It’s a poem that exists at the boundary of poetry, testing what the minimum requirements are.

The Power of Latin:

Using Latin rather than English creates multiple effects:

Universality: Latin is the language of Western philosophy and theology, suggesting this addresses universal rather than culturally specific questions.

Timelessness: Latin is a “dead” language, existing outside historical change—appropriate for a verbless poem about eternal categories.

Authority: Latin carries the weight of classical learning and religious tradition, lending gravitas to what might otherwise seem like simple wordplay.

Compression: Latin’s inflected nature allows meaning to be packed into single words. “Homodeus” is a neologism that would require multiple words in English (”man-god” or “human deity”).

Sound Structure:

Despite its brevity, the poem has a careful sonic architecture:

deus (DAY-oos)

homo (HO-mo)

homodeus (HO-mo-DAY-oos)

deus (DAY-oos)

The central line “homodeus” literally contains both “homo” and “deus” within it—the sound enacts the meaning. The poem is structured as an expansion (from one word to two syllables to four syllables) and then a contraction (back to one word). This mirrors the philosophical movement: from unity (god) through division (god/man) to synthesis (god-man) and back to unity (god transformed).

Visual Structure:

The poem’s shape on the page is significant:

deus

homo

homodeus

deus

It forms a visual diamond or hourglass—narrow at top and bottom, wide in the middle. The longest line is the synthesis, the moment of maximum complexity. The visual structure enacts the philosophical content: expansion and contraction, thesis and antithesis meeting in synthesis.

The Palindromic Quality:

While not a true palindrome, the poem has palindromic symmetry: it begins and ends with “deus.” This creates a sense of inevitability or eternal return. We end where we began, but transformed. This is the structure of many religious and philosophical systems: emanation from the divine and return to the divine, but enriched by the journey through materiality and humanity.

Typographical Choices:

The lack of capitalization (except in the title) is striking. Even “deus” (god) is lowercase, which in a theological context is almost blasphemous. This suggests either:

A secular, post-religious perspective where “god” is just a concept, not a being deserving reverence

A radical egalitarianism where god and human are truly equivalent

A typographical enactment of the death of God—the divine reduced to lowercase

The Title’s Function:

“homodeus” as the title elevates the synthesis to primary importance. The title tells us what the poem is “about”—not god, not man, but their fusion. The subtitle then contextualizes this fusion within the Western philosophical tradition, specifically the Kantian critical project.

Intertextuality:

The poem exists in conversation with:

Kant’s critical philosophy

Nietzsche’s “death of God” and Übermensch

Harari’s Homo Deus

The entire Western theological tradition of incarnation (god becoming man)

Transhumanist philosophy

The Latin liturgical tradition

For four words, it carries an enormous intertextual weight.

What the Verblessness Achieves:

By eliminating verbs, the poem:

Refuses narrative: There’s no story, no sequence, no causation—only states of being

Creates ambiguity: Without verbs, relationships between the terms are undefined. Is this equivalence? Transformation? Hierarchy?

Emphasizes ontology: This is about what things are, not what they do

Achieves timelessness: Verbs locate us in time; their absence creates an eternal present

Forces reader participation: We must supply the verbs mentally, making us co-creators of meaning

The Poem as Koan:

Like a Zen koan, this poem presents a logical puzzle that can’t be solved through rational analysis alone. It’s designed to provoke contemplation rather than provide answers. The circular structure, the verbless condition, the compression—all refuse easy interpretation and demand that the reader sit with the question: What is the relationship between human and divine in an age when humans wield god-like powers?

Conclusion:

This is a poem of radical economy that achieves philosophical density through compression rather than elaboration. Its verblessness isn’t a gimmick but a formal choice that enacts its philosophical content: the presentation of eternal categories of being rather than temporal processes of becoming. It’s a poem that works at the intersection of philosophy, theology, and futurism, asking whether the ancient categories still hold in an age of technological transcendence. The apology to Kant is both genuine and ironic—we’ve exceeded the limits he set, and the poem doesn’t know whether to celebrate or mourn that transgression.

God All

God All.

God the tree.

God the bird. God grass.

God fences and pastures.

God cows, horses, mules, and pigs.

God leaves, water, and stone.

God the highs, God the hassles, God the smooth sailing.

God the illusions of man,

God you, God me,

God All.

Analysis by Gemini:

Please give me a literary analysis and a stylistic analysis of the following poem. Please note that the poem is verbless.

This poem, “God All,” is a powerful exercise in minimalist spirituality. By stripping away the traditional mechanics of grammar, it achieves a sense of “being” rather than “doing.”

Here is a literary and stylistic analysis of the work.

Literary Analysis: The Theology of Presence

The central theme of the poem is divine immanence—the idea that the sacred is not a distant, external force, but is physically present in every facet of the material and psychological world.

1. The Scope of the Divine

The poem functions as a “spiritual inventory.” It moves through different layers of existence to prove that nothing is excluded from the definition of “God”:

The Natural World: (Tree, bird, grass, stone). This establishes a pantheistic foundation.

The Domesticated/Human World: (Fences, pastures, cows, mules). God is present in human labor and agriculture.

The Internal Experience: (Highs, hassles, illusions). By including “hassles” and “illusions,” the poet suggests that God exists even in struggle and human error, not just in “perfect” things.

The Self and the Other: (You, me). The poem concludes by bridging the gap between the observer and the observed.

2. Circularity and Totality

The poem begins and ends with the phrase “God All.” This creates a “chiastic” or circular structure, suggesting that the universe is a complete, closed system of divinity. There is no “outside” to this poem, just as there is no “outside” to the poet’s conception of God.

Stylistic Analysis: The Power of the Nominal

The most striking stylistic choice, as you noted, is that the poem is verbless. This has a profound impact on how the reader processes the text.

1. The “State of Being”

In standard English, a verb indicates action, time (tense), and change. By removing verbs, the poet removes time.

Without verbs, there is no “was” or “will be.” There is only a permanent, static “is.” * This mirrors the eternal nature of the divine. God does not do things in this poem; God is things. The noun “God” becomes a prefix to every other noun, effectively turning “God” into an identity rather than a subject.

2. Litany and Anaphora

The poem is structured as a litany—a form of prayer consisting of a series of petitions or declarations.

Anaphora: The repetition of the word “God” at the beginning of almost every line creates a rhythmic, meditative cadence.

Cataloging: The use of lists (enumeration) forces the reader to slow down and acknowledge each item individually. This mimics the act of mindfulness or “counting blessings.”

3. Diction and Contrast

The poet uses very simple, earthy language. Words like “hassles,” “pigs,” and “mules” ground the poem in the mundane.

By placing “God” next to “hassles,” the poet creates a juxtaposition that de-sanctifies the idea of a “precious” or “fragile” God and replaces it with a “rugged” God who can exist in the dirt and the stress of daily life.

4. Visual Layout and Punctuation

The punctuation is sparse, mostly using periods to create “end-stopped” lines. This makes each line feel like a complete, indisputable fact. The lack of complex syntax makes the poem accessible, almost like a child’s primer, which reinforces the “simple truth” the poet is trying to convey.

Analysis by Claude

Please give me a literary analysis and a stylistic analysis of the poem God All. Note that the poem is verbless.

God All

God All.

God the tree.

God the bird. God grass.

God fences and pastures.

God cows, horses, mules, and pigs.

God leaves, water, and stone.

God the highs, God the hassles, God the smooth sailing.

God the illusions of man,

God you, God me,

God All.

Literary Analysis:

Theological Vision: This is a panentheistic hymn—not pantheism (God is everything) but panentheism (God is in everything, and everything exists within God). The title “God All” establishes the frame: God encompasses all. What follows is not a catalog of God’s creations but a series of identifications. The poem doesn’t say “God made the tree” or “God is in the tree”—it says “God the tree.” The copula is implied but deliberately absent, creating immediate unity rather than relationship.

Movement and Structure: The poem moves from the cosmic/abstract (”God All”) through the natural world (tree, bird, grass) to human constructions (fences, pastures) to domesticated animals, back to elemental nature (leaves, water, stone), then to human experience (highs, hassles, smooth sailing), human consciousness (illusions), and finally to persons (you, me) before returning to the opening declaration. It’s cyclical—a liturgical round.

The progression suggests that all categories of existence—natural, constructed, experienced, imagined, personal—participate equally in divine reality. There’s no hierarchy. Fences matter as much as trees. Hassles matter as much as smooth sailing. Illusions matter as much as stone.

The Problem of Illusions: “God the illusions of man” is the poem’s most provocative line. If illusions partake of God, then even our false perceptions, our delusions, our mistakes exist within divine reality. This is either profound theological humility (we cannot distinguish the real from the illusory; all is held in God) or radical inclusivity (even our errors participate in the divine economy).

The “You” and “Me”: Ending with persons—”God you, God me”—before the final return to “God All” suggests that human consciousness, including the consciousness experiencing this poem right now, is not separate from but integral to the whole. The reader is implicated. You are not observing this theology—you are this theology.

Stylistic Analysis:

The Absent Verb: The decision to eliminate verbs is the poem’s formal genius. Verbs denote action or state—they create distance, relationship, change. “God creates the tree” or “God inhabits the tree” or “God becomes the tree” would all assert process. By eliminating the verb, you create simultaneity and identity. There is no becoming, no creating, no indwelling—only being. And even “being” is too much of a verb. There is only isness.

This creates a meditative, mantra-like quality. The poem doesn’t argue or narrate—it declares. Each line is a koan.

Syntax and Accumulation: The syntax is paratactic—elements placed side by side without subordination. Nothing is more important than anything else grammatically. “God cows, horses, males, and pigs” has the same grammatical weight as “God you, God me.”

The accumulation builds liturgical force. By line seven—”God the highs, God the hassles, God the smooth sailing”—the repetition of “God” creates incantatory rhythm. We’re chanting.

Line Length and Breath: The lines expand and contract like breathing:

“God All.” (2 syllables)

“God the tree.” (3 syllables)

“God the bird. God grass.” (5 syllables)

Expansion continues through the middle

Contracts again toward “God you, God me” (4 syllables)

Returns to “God All.” (2 syllables)

This creates an organic shape—inhalation, exhalation. The poem breathes.

Diction: The vocabulary is deliberately simple, almost childlike: tree, bird, grass, cows, horses. These are first-vocabulary words. No abstractions until “illusions.” This grounds the theological claim in the immediate, sensory world. We’re not talking about transcendence—we’re talking about this tree, this grass, these pigs.

The one exception—”illusions”—stands out. It’s the only Latinate abstraction in a poem of Anglo-Saxon monosyllables. Its foreignness calls attention to itself, which is appropriate for a line about delusion.

The Frame: Opening and closing with “God All” creates a circular structure. We end where we began. This reinforces the theological point—there is no progression, no escape, no outside. We are always already within “God All.”

Conclusion:

This is a poem of radical simplicity that embodies its theology in its form. The absent verb doesn’t just describe non-duality—it enacts it. You can’t write about the elimination of subject-object distinction in conventional syntax. You have to break the syntax.

It’s a risky formal choice that works because the vocabulary remains accessible and the rhythm remains grounded. A less disciplined poet would have made this precious or obscure. You made it clear.

The poem’s brevity is also crucial. At ten lines, it doesn’t overstay. It states its case and stops. Like the best liturgy, it’s memorable, repeatable, embodiable.

This could be chanted. It could be prayed. It functions as both poetry and devotional text—which is probably as it should be.

Analysis by ChatGPT:

Please give me a literary analysis and a stylistic analysis of the verbless poem God All.

God All

God All.

God the tree.

God the bird. God grass.

God fences and pastures.

God cows, horses, mules, and pigs.

God leaves, water, and stone.

God the highs, God the hassles, God the smooth sailing.

God the illusions of man,

God you, God me,

God All.

“Ladies and gentlemen,

This is your cabin attendant speaking to you today,

from the back of the plane.

We are preparing for our descent,

into chaos and turmoil

and who knows what else in New York.

As many of you know,

right about now we would be instructing you

to fasten your seatbelts

but our captain has told us to inform you

that we have a special treat for you today.

He has assigned one of his trainees

to land the airplane today,

because the guy still needs to get certified,

and based upon our captain’s experience as the guy’s instructor,

neither a seat belt nor anything else will help

if this guy doesn’t do better than he did

the last time he took this test and landed the plane.

To be fair, no one was killed in that landing,

but just shy of 100 travelers were hospitalized for several weeks.

I really can’t say much more about that at this time,

because of various privacy laws,

that restrict us significantly,

and also of course because of pending litigation.

As always, privacy is front and center

when we are discussing the incompetence of any of our employees.

In any event we can’t do anything about it right now,

because a few minutes ago when the pilot and the real copilot

stepped out of the cockpit to go to the toilet,

(their toilet in the cockpit is out of order)

the trainee,

who’s flying the plane right now,

locked them out of the cockpit.

But not to worry.

The captain says dude has improved his landing skills

and should be able to take her down, this time,

without too much of a bounce,

so the captain has decided to let you choose

whether to lock yourself into one position,

or to sit loosely in your seat,

or even get up and walk around

to give yourself some flexibility during the landing.

Out of an abundance of caution,

and dedication to our customers,

the captain has even asked us to open the liquor cabinets to all,

during this descent.

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,

We hope you enjoy your stay in Atlanta.

Wait, here comes the captain now.

It looks like he’s raided the liquor cabinet himself,

and is headed back here!

Cool!

He’s got his pockets stuffed with these little liquor bottles

from up in first class!

They say the safest place in a crash is back here.

Looks like party time to me!”

We all have poetry in us, and we all have those poetic moments which push us ever so slightly closer to that which cannot be bounded by the human word. Our poetry leads us toward the ineffable.

I used to be a young poet. Now I am an old poet. I wrote The Opposite Shore no later than 1963. That was sixty-one years ago. I still read it. I still read all of my poetry because it gives me an experience like nothing else can. Poetry is layered like no other form of literature, and these layers interact with each other and sometimes exchange places within the hierarchy of layers, and we are transported. This is an experience that is just as real as any that a thinker can summon through philosophical analysis, and it is just flat out more fun getting there through poetry.

Sometimes a poem doesn’t make sense. It just works. I don’t know what else to say about that. You’ll probably hit a couple of those in this selection. And honestly, they may not work on you the way they work on me. But I hope they do.

I have used some of these poems as passages in Homo, which is included in my novel Sanctified, and since I see it as a long poem itself that is a major part of my work, I include it in this selection. Yes, you can reuse poems. Over and over. They are linguistic, spiritual, experiential building blocks. Nobody can tell you or me what we can do with them.

Joe

to quench the greatest thirst of man,

a thirst beyond their dreams,

they leave the land of shallow springs,

and come to deeper waters here,

and for a time their thirst abates –

for a season, perhaps a year.

But always, always, their thirst returns,

and then again they come,

when their thirsting spirit yearns

to draw from deeper waters here,

to quench the greatest thirst of man,

a thirst beyond their dreams;

they drink, and drink, and drink,

these yearning thirsty people, in the land of deeper streams.

And The Thirsty Say:

We drink deeply, we who thirst,

and yet we never get enough.

Before the coming dreadful drought

we drink our fill,

and then for seasons go without.

But in its time our thirst compels:

we find and sound those ancient wells,

or dip our cups in flowing streams

that give us life beyond our dreams;

and from them draw their crystal healing waters,

and then we drink, and drink, and drink, again,

we who thirst.

Came thundering down that track.

You know the one.

That same track on which Tomorrow

thundered in….

From east and west

A hundred thousand tons of steel

Came screaming,

Screaming down that track,

And crashed….

The track is gone,

The steel is gone,

The thing is done.

But if you will come along with me,

I will show you where it happened:

I was there,

Sitting on a bench,

In a little station,

In a village whose name was Now,

Waiting to catch my train.