The Eye Is Everywhere

No use to run: the eye of the observer
will penetrate my palm, the angular scrawl
of signature, lines on the giveaway page.
It is all revealed: the ego, the flight, the rage.

Ghost! who looks down on us from steadier air-
what do you say to the earthbound terrors, the tangles
of all our brambly choices that conflict?
Oh, for that pure serene imagination!

The restaurant glows too brightly: to go elsewhere
into the darkness, perhaps, to think, decide –
will it be different, away from the probing bodies
and blur of the crowded atmosphere?

But it is all running, getting out of breath!
I cannot speed from the shadow which I dream:
open and weak in the elements of disaster,
and oh! not Christ on the wave, but wavering waif.