I craned from pole to pole, with pale Hurrying ear I sought the sound Of a friendship I had unfound, Lost in the maelstrom, in the gale. A song no longer sung, but known Down in where the singing starts, soft As an infant's finger held aloft To hold where the wild wind had blown. Where my limb was cut there grew A pain; where my shadow'd followed soft No image of myself now crossed. What I was was lost, was through. No zone of knowledge could commend Discovery of how I'd begun Nor tell me if I'd lost or won In this struggle without end. Now I knew I was lost; lost. Uncentered in the storm that blew Through all that was of me, all through. Lost is what I was-- at last, at last.