he stepped forward and backward

like the progress of a concerto

his sheets billowing sadly

in time to the pathos

of seeming to be both a god and a man

I knew a man

who not only was blind

but was impossible to injure

by way of the nerve-endings

this kept him in the dark

about ultra violet rays

or the deadly proximity

of burning things

and is why he wore cloths

as large as sheets

to prevent him comprehending

his lack of excitement

which was so unaccountable

the temple of his mind

could easily become a ruin over night

for the vastness of his tent was no more

important to him

than heaven is to its parts

he similarly together with all his body objects

drifted uncontrollably

among its indefinite folds

each part as real to the other

as whatever happened to occur

in fact he only ever awoke

to the true identities

of thoughts and of surfaces

by starting at the pressure

of them standing close by looming

just as a sleeper is jolted awake

by forms leaning over him

or watching him in the dark

their eyes fixed lightly

upon the hem of his circular

delicately balanced

lotus position

and lost in the vision of his purity

the banal babel of his prayers

occasionally dislodging

as the music of his meditation

thus his whole life

took no time at all

and being alone the whole time

became his main sense