Elusive, but only sweetened by
Disuse, souls I’d entered once before
Once again trouble the surfaces of life
With their small noises and single color…
Picture the dream before the last dream
Of a troubled night—something like that.
There were no survivors. Afterwards,
I meet them in weak sunlight in a corner
Of urban parkland. Not far away,
There seem to be children emerging
From the waters of an ornamental lake.
Swan-boats lead them off to the horizon.
We are so happy. The sunlight grows weaker.
Reunion shakes the world. Let us speak of it.