You turn the page, the street corner you turn
So that the scenery continues
Unrolling sights that need no instant to learn—
Already shapes embedded in the sinews.
As if the horizon itself were dog-eared,
The east is folded down, the dawn’s just over that crease,
And all the curtain walls, stiff in the night, beleaguered,
From these ink streets new rippling are released.