Somebody has got to tell me something real

and that very quickly.

Someone must show me a thing

that will not disappear when I touch it,

or fade into a cloud to walk through

when I have looked at it and

thought about it long enough.

You are not final:

you will be bones.

The feet I see marking the pavements

will walk too long

and not long enough,

and I will see the streets

clean in the morning, (tomorrow morning) after rain;

but the feet that marked the footpaths

will have stepped into the grave,

before I have done with them.

Who is going to tell me where the dark horses of the spirit go?

Have I come into this room now?

Or was I always in this place?

And could you in your speech

have an inference different from mine?

Do you signify, proud other people,

what you appear to be,

or imply quite another meaning in your existence?

Place me on the edge of a cliff

and tell me now where to leap,

for the horses are pulling on the reins. —

I have no wish to hold them.