Of what I saw, or what saw me, I cannot tell.
A levity like gossamer, as I fell,
From the empty-space-fraught doorstep of the stars,
To a seaside-skirted avenue of cars.
A caravan of halted wheels and souls.
Beseeched, each, by supplicating tithe bowls,
Engines, chained by eyes of tunneled light,
Lead the wanderer, twisting into the night.
Past wayside marketplaces, gaudy airs,
‘Twixt wrathful incantations, clamorous stares.
Tripping on sand castles, seagull cries,
Which cleave into the walls of moonish skies.
Thus floated I, and at length came upon,
A daze-panoplied ring of lights which shone,
Like heaven’s distant empyreal vale.
Just clumps of cars and crowds stalled in the gale.
I called to them, they surely did not hear,
And rushed over the path to where they were.
I did not shove, but wafted through to see,
A young man, slain and smiling, or was it me?
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