To the Author of Glare

There comes a time when the story turns into twenty

different stories and soon after that the academy of shadows

retreats to the cave of a solitary boy in a thriving

metropolis where no one remembers the original story

which is, of course, a sign of its great success: to be forgotten

implies you were once known, and that is something we

can prize more than the gesture greater than the achievement:

but I wander from the main point: the main point is one

among many fine dots so fine you need a microscope to see them

but then they multiply like germs: the work of the deepest cells

is ergonomically incorrect, but effective nevertheless, like

my footprints in the snow leading to you, who would be my father

if this were a dream and I on the verge of waking up somewhere

other than home: but the hours remain ours, though they

were gone almost as soon as they arrived, hat and coat in hand.

     

     

 

     

     

[Glare is a book of poetry by

        A. R. Ammons.]