and now you can't even imagine something else
another place another romance different furniture
the other alternative chosen at that crucial moment
when what was going to happen disclosed its face
it was always too late and even later as we speak of
sweeping moves back and forth across the continent
as if foreordained as if what was said was scripted
with blood for ink as if the actual author of my life
illusion may be the thing itself composed of images
embodied thoughts subject to gravity as if material
objects accidentally proliferating collateral identity
attached by comfortable custom carefully construed
or else reduced to nothing like Lear your campsite
cleared of everything not that epitome of tragedy
is there yet a reasonable position between extremes
light-hearted gentle contented here and coming back
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