I

 

 

Only begin, as from O, although in troth

It is the scholar lisping Aleth tracking back

The mumming Pseud across the border to the shapes

Of things. Disturbance stirs among the shadow bands:

The nowhere man's peeling off the light like transfers

While the Pseud laps away around the figures.

 

 

It is the Pseud that fascinates, his dazzling sheen

An inconstant lure to Aleth. So he delays,

Hovering above the keys, or thumbing the logbook,

For every appearance of the Pseud, who will,

Perhaps, ease up his passage to forgetfulness

Through the play of many lights upon each other.

 

 

We may not come back to them: twin blades they revolve

Turn by turn as caustic figures over the gate

Setting each other forth in over-againstness.

But the unrest between them, that takes you down now

To the fitful stirring that urges to the break

Surging over and over through the swarm of noise.