NYC 20/9/07 #4 I see I don't see the light side the shade side of this stone I see I don't see the front side the backside of this stone I see I don't see the outside the inside of this stone Beholding a stone, I see I don't see I see I don' see Any of this.  The sun turns, a day passes, steeps into a sidewalk, or slides into a gutted bank then the pedestrian turns, and returns, he cannot decide upon an avenue, steeped outside the walk, banked inside the gut, only his feet now, passing, turning things, then the stone sides beneath his walk, sides under these steps, turns, returns, is the same: the sun steps on the pedestrian steps on the stone, the stone in the sky turns a stone in the sky turns one stone next to another stone beneath this sky. The light side shade side front side back side besides this stone- Any of this seemed the same.  Beholding a stone, you see, ah, you see- There, the pedestrian turns, and returns, it's not his to decide Which stone to turn by or which to be turned by.  You see what you don't see- These are the closed avenues, these are the very closed eyes.  See, see The inside-outside of this stone.  We behold closed eyes with a stone, (or we behold a stone with closed eyes). A stone of the walk turns a stone of the walk turns one stone beholding another stone against the walk.  See, see The stone is the same, but how they never return, how these are the closed avenues - how these are the very closed eyes!     Paeans to Gods of the wing�d shoe, paeans to Gods of a sun, "See, they return; ah, see the tentative Movements, and the slow feet, The trouble in the pace and the uncertain Wavering!"