THE SIGNALS
Often I meet, on walking from a door,
A flash of objects never seen before.
As known particulars come wheeling by,
They dart across a corner of the eye.
They flicker faster than a blue-tailed swift,
Or when dark follows dark in lightning rift.
They slip between the fingers of my sight.
I cannot put my glance upon them tight.
Sometimes the blood is privileged to guess
The things the eye or hand cannot possess.
~Theodore Roethke
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