Wide and lonely ribbon,
Intrepid band stretched between temple and temple,
Last outpost of the intelligence
And white barrier between my knowing world
And what I cannot understand,
A place of rampart from without,
And from within a wall
For my most desperate daring thoughts to dash against,
This is the desert space of my face.
Save for a few forgivable wrinkles,
My forehead is ever
The same smooth impregnable belt of little logic,
The real proper stay of my fancy.
This is the desert space of my face,
Wide and lonely and impassable,
Except when a shadow of sorrow
Darts across it furtively like a hunted deer
And hides in the hair and turns it gray.