Thursday, July 14, 2005

University Nocturne





When the eyes—weak and wanting to close,
passing through that old corridor—
are caught by the friendship
established by the moths
in the brief experience of brightness,
in their dances ‘round the fluorescent lamp;
they grow weaker in utter envy
for the moths have the greater freedom
than they are. Thus—
it is the posts along the corridor
that move, and not the feet of the one
owning those half-opened eyes;
like free flowing figures, they come to pass,
creating the creep and cold and shiver
which, in fact, are the very anticipation
of the coming dawn. The other senses—
being intimate siblings to the eyes,
are led into receiving certain peculiarities:
the vernal grass and the olden classrooms,
the mist that plays between bitter and sweet,
the radio at the guardhouse, the ticking of the clock,
the stainless railing blanketed with yesterday’s dusts,
and the pungent air that reddens the eyes. Then—
the feet, moving, like Time to one who mourns,
come closer to the landing of the waiting stairs,
the portal to the desire of the owner
of the eyes, the feet, the senses, and now,
the head that turns itself back to the corridor
to gather the scattered images,
to put them together as one. Now—
the eyes, the senses, and the head,
are carried by the feet upstairs,
leaving the corridor finally, to enter
the room of deep slumber, with the visions
of the early morning that will melt into nothingness
when daylight comes.

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