More than discovery - rediscovery.
They renew
acquaintanceship with all things
as with the flowers in dreams.

And delicate as a sketch made by being,
they merge in a singular way with their own thoughts,
drawing an arabesque with a spoon or fork
casually on the air behind their shoulders,
or talk in a confidential tone as if
their own ears held the hearing of another.

Legs in the dance go up as though on strings
pulled by their indifferent wanton hands
while anger blows into them and through their muslin
easy as sand or wind.

Older, they become round and hard, demand
shapes that are real, castles on the shore
and all the lines and angles of tradition
are mustered for them in their eagerness
to become whole, fit themselves to the thing
they see outside them,
while the thing they left
lies like a caul in some abandoned place,
unremembered by fingers or the incredibly bright
stones, which for a time replace their eyes.