One more page, how strange, but one more day, too.
In the bewilderment of a late hour
the scenic falls of a remembered day
drift, a-sail like daydreams, in the real
throb of night: light proclaims its purchase here,
daring to focus reality in
the definition of this room: see
and hear the din of existence shroud
the amorphous past, summed in the thrilling
realisation of arrival at
its source-- here, now! -- propelled into the state
of lapse, conformity, when this train yields.
A tap dripped just now, and the ticking clock's
staccato climbed like the beating heart
a seemingly endless flight of stairs.
