I've found a different way to scent the air: already it's a by-word for despair.
You see the names of places roundabout? They're mine now, and I've turned them inside out.
These places, and the ancient things you know, You won't know soon. I'm working on it now.'
Each sudden gust of light explains itself as flames, but neither they, nor even bombs redoubled on the hills tonight can quite include me in their fear.