Wake up, dull heart, lulled into dream by life,
If this is life, to stumble drunk behind
An empty circus train. Oh man, what kind
Of man are you who does not feel the knife
Of sunrise? Listen to a drum and fife
That don’t exist, while all the time you’re blind
To real things—blue water, waving pines,
A kid’s brash smile, the softness of your wife?
The caravan collides—with what? What gives?
The impact of a question breaks the spell.
I’m staggered like a shadow boxer hit
By phantoms come to life. Heart wakes: I live!
The sun! The sky! Again, the steeple bell:
The Angelus has pulled me from the pit.