Irrelevancies rush in —
Who has opened a window?
In the hallways where winds blow,
The court is in session;
What’s left for one crushed in
Tradition but hunker and question.
The buffeted glass, the crunch of gravel,
And in the corridor the crowd
Strains to hear above the din the gavel
Pronounce a sentence unintelligible,
And reaches — when my version’s read aloud —
“Versus?” “Verses?” — some verdict barely legible.
Drafty trials! Trying drafts! Thank God outside
The playful fountain of non sequiturs
Sparkles, and beside it in their stride
Stroll with my will(power) my executors.