Within the silent city they go,
Each with his or her own troubled soul.
Never touching, never talking,
Endlessly silent, endlessly walking.

Per me si va ne la città dolente,
per me si va ne l'etterno dolore,
per me si va tra la perduta gente.

Like the barrators in the Fourth Ditch,
Circling like those sinners, knowing their niche.
Those who sold their souls, who bent the laws,
And never once did it give them pause.

         --Me, 2017