The seasons
beautifully involved,
lovely like elevators,
who never thought to get off
at the next stop.
Who thought the party
was always there.
The lamps were on.
The glasses arrange themselves
in the green light.
A familiar spirit
changes into a hush
on the hills in the evening.
When the room darkens,
and one can see no farther
than the face in the window
it is as if a century has passed.
People in the theater
waltz out from their seats
as the lights turn on
and new ones waltz in.
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