When was it?
I think perhaps at a dance,
On varnished boards with powdered wax.
Dim colored lights —
Down there a devil’s head —
I think it was then she said to someone
‘I love you.’
Perhaps she said it to herself —
(She was seventeen.)
She walked on stars
And sang sometimes —
Wooden-horse rings,
Inconsequential notes,
And things of little sense.
Perhaps I have walked the plank too often.
Perhaps I have been pushed into the water too often.
It may be that I have drowned.
We sit and talk —
We cannot even think the old way.
She — and I — all of us have changed.
We think we are masters of our souls.
The smoke of a cigarette rises slowly
And casts a shadow on her face.
She is like a queen.
Unmoved —
A stranger.
And what has changed us?
Not time —
For time is but a vehicle for other things.
Not knowledge —
We know nothing more now.
What is it?
Perhaps I have been thinking —
Dreaming —
While she has become a queen.
