What you've just seen
is the seamstress building a thread.
The executioner yawning.
Our mayor pounding the bully-pulpit.

You've seen two visions
and their violent intercourse.
A spark in the foundlings' manor.
The shadow of a magnificent hand.

It's dark, but not too dark to see
Fate opening its black letter,
its lips moving as it reads,
the pages falling and falling.

You rub your life-red eyes . . .
Was that a comet or a damselfly?
A blue whale, or an armchair?
Did you just witness the death of the dance?

That's the problem with second sight.
Once a blind girl selling matches,
you've been gifted with intuition.
Eyeless, you bespeak wisdom.