It's not really that
you get what it is—
it's that you understand
what it was,
and you know it
when it's over with.
It's
pure space,
weightless,
soundless rhythms playing
as ripples
across
the surface of gray water;
fortunes
which nobody owns,
decadent processions
of white
and yellow light,
pageants
which admit,
which accept,
which possess
us—and not
the other way around.
