After a certain age, there’s no one left to turn to.
You’ve got to find Eurydice on your own,
To find the small crack
between here and everywhere else all by yourself.
How could it be otherwise?
Everyone’s gone away, the houses are all empty,
And overcast starts to fill the sky like soiled insulation.
—Charles Wright, “No Direction Home,” Sestets. (Farrar, Straus and Giroux; 1 edition March 31, 2009)