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.