Octavio Paz was following me.
A sum dum sore shadow
Night brazen against street lamp
Projecting the projector
In negative, an errie other worldly self
I turn in a turn onto ties to see
The beautiful eyes that never
Made it into his poetry
The beautiful irises that
Held and beheld stone and smoke
And...architecture
I don't mind he, following me
Like that in books, like that
In other shadows creeping around
Just Stopping in time to plop down, flop
Down, yes sir, real mind boggling
Of who do that, who do what?
Sore cheek bones, and the groans
Moans of fine pursuit
That turns onto itself, constantly
Like dark and deep waters in the dark
thinking deeply of a spangled sea
Octavia Paz was following me.
