Someone stands in a place heavy with other people’s old wishes, picking up that same hope for herself. Right away, though, the feeling sours: a seed of disappointment has already sprouted inside something that looked cheerful or harmless—a “capsule gay.” That hidden letdown is too far off to stop her feet from moving forward. She’s walking a narrow plank made of comfort or soothing, but it’s a trick. Ahead lies an endless, inescapable sea, and behind her the path she arrived on has closed. The mood is one of quiet, sinking dread wrapped in a false calm. Hope and disappointment live in the same breath. The speaker knows on some level that the hope is hollow, but she keeps going anyway, balanced on a fragile strip of balm, heading toward a vastness with no exit and no way back.
This is the place they hoped before, — Summary
This is the place they hoped before, Where I am hoping now. The seed of disappointment grew Within a capsule gay, Too distant to arrest the feet That walk this plank of balm -- Before them lies escapeless sea -- The way is closed they came.