All calculations set to one side;
The inevitable Descent from Heaven,
A visitation of
memories and a seance of rhythms
Invades my house, my head,
And the world to mind.
A
horse leaps forward on suburban turf,
Past planted fields and streches of woods
Misty with
carbonic plague.
A wretched theatrical woman, somewhere in the world,
Sighs after an
improbable indulgence.
Desperadoes lie dreaming of storm, and of wounds and debauch.
Along
small streams the little children sit,
Stifling their curses.
Let us turn once more to our
studies,
To the noise of insatiable movement
That forms and ferments in the masses.
