The province of the poem is the world.
When the sun rises, it rises in the poem
and when it sets darkness comes down
and the poem is dark .

and lamps are lit, cats prowl and men
read, read–or mumble and stare
at that which their small lights distinguish
or obscure or their hands search out

in the dark. The poem moves them or
it does not move them. Faitoute, his ears
ringing . no sound . no great city,
as he seems to read–

I have had my dream — like others — And it has come to nothing, so that
I remain now carelessly
With feet planted on the ground,
And look up at the sky — Feeling my clothes about me,
The weight of my body in my shoes,
The rim of my hat, air passing in and out
At my nose — and decide to dream no more.

It is difficult
to get the news from poems
yet men die miserably every day
for lack
of what is found there.