Just Once

In Boston, abruptly, I comprehended;

strolled there along the Charles River,

watched the lights duplicating themselves,

all neoned and strobe-hearted, opening

their mouths as wide as musical drama artists;

tallied the stars, my little campaigners,

my scar daisies, and realized that I strolled my adoration

on the night green side of it and cried

my heart toward the eastward vehicles and cried

my heart toward the westward autos and took

my reality over a little bumped scaffold

what's more, rushed my fact, its appeal, home

furthermore, accumulated these constants into morning

just to discover them gone.