I think that I used To rush out that door, bolting >From the inside, and Hitting the air, cool And full of the smell of still- Melting ice, and there, There, the moment In streaks of chained flashes Of a sun still casting faint and thin, All the steps forgotten The moment, The door left open The inside always light blue Steps on still-hard ground But now that ritual's perfected The air is the same or worse The night neighborhood is a day-darkened museum, The parties have glass walls and imperceptible conversation. The night is perfectly safe, You could sleep out there. Now that the door's never the thing Midday is vision coloured with fatigue. _______________________________________________ Five7Five mailing list [EMAIL PROTECTED] http://www.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/five7five
