Memory is the heart of this poem. The speaker begins with a delicate sketch, comparing it to a Toulouse-Lautrec drawing, full of colour and movement, yet "a lie more real than the truth." That phrase captures how we remember: the past gets reshaped, but it can feel truer than the facts. The speaker then wonders about the person they once were, or someone they knew, and what that person dreams about now.
From there the mood darkens. The city appears as a "poisonous giant" that breaks its promise to keep us safe. Like memories, it will vanish, along with everyone in it and everyone still to come. Even light will die.
Yet the ending is quietly tender. The speaker calls our awareness of all this a "strange gift," and the final lines, broken apart on the page, suggest how hard it is to try to accept it. The tone is wistful, sober, and gently resigned.