The tears that fall from my eyes have wet my hands
Holding the reins of my horse. How many hours
Were sweet to me because of women! These showers
Bring to my mind that day among pale sands,
Call to mind how one came with me unwillingly
On an evening warm as another country's noons
And all seemed of long ago among those dunes
And under a clear sky, under a clear green sky.
In the foil-and-pastel tea room
Proper as aunty's kiss,
I think of Lobachevski,
Of Riemann who smashed all this.
Tables seem decently skirted,
Their rumps steady and square.
"Seem . . . square," but they aren't; they
Aren't even there.
Once forks and crystal
Were stars on a cloud-lace top,
Till Einstein, the white face heifer,
Got in Kepler's china shop.
Now what looks straight isn't.
What looks solid is loose as balloons.
Eat your soup, watching Cancer
And Scorpio hooked to the spoons.
Walking tight-wires over Niagara?
Simple to what we do
On the crookback highway at noon,
Juggling our ego too,