Slowly the concept escapes us

The concept of time, while we dwell on others--

As long as we do not recall the melody

We remain clean and ignorant.

We are those who walk step within step

Down and down; we pass art wishing

We had reason to laugh. There are those

Who do remember the nineteenth-century strains we heard;

But they read uncritically if they can get away with it

And are amazed by Turners when they don't have their glasses on.

We might have questions for them:

So we are ashamed and wish not for our sight

To be blemished as theirs is with foolery.

They strive to build these dumb domes in air...

Yet they do know. They have known.


We dwell on the other we choose and yet we know not

That we are just as in love.


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