It will be time for either developing maturity or disastrously evading it. His current volume is obviously an interim one, but he seems as young as ever. He's always been uneven, and there are still experiments that don't seem quite worth it. He's not lost his capacity for games, but now futility seems to have become a serious opponent. What carries weight is the thinnest of laths.
Desperation invites a plethora of questions.
He hopes his hands will never be empty. He prays to a God both infinite and scattered about in the world's coat pockets, without believing. Nevertheless, he asks help in putting two words together. Like Wolf in the Italienisches Liederbuch he remembers Auch kleine Dinge. In spite of his irony, he probably does long to set his hair on fire and become a summer cloud, remembering how the match once swayed as part of a great tree.