His past selves
Trail him in the dark
Uncle History’s
Mendicants
Begging for alms
They cry out
“Remind us
Who was where
When the city
Locked its gates
Against Rousseau
Which passengers
Ran out of pills
At mid ocean
Father
You’re running so fast
We’re trying
To keep up”
But now Uncle
Is far ahead
Dressed
Like Mozart’s
Bird catcher
In a suit
Of feathers
But without mirth
Or a song
Planet of the Blind 