I used to like connections：

    Leaves floating on the water

    Like faces floating on the surface of a dream，

    On the surface of a swimming pool

    Once the holocaust was complete.

    And then I passed through stages of belief

    And unbelief， desire and restraint.

    I found myself repeating certain themes

    Ad interim， until they began to seem quaint

    And I began to feel myself a victim of coincidence，

    Inhabiting a film whose real title was my name ——

    Inhabiting a realm of fabulous constructions

    Made entirely of words， all words

    I should have known， and should have connected

    Until they meant whatever I might mean.

    But they're just fragments really，

    No more than that.

    A coast away，

    And then across an ocean fifty years away，

    I felt an ashen figure gliding through the leaves

    —— Bewitchment of intelligence by leaves ——

    A body floating clothed， facedown，

    A not-so-old philosopher dying in his bed

    —— At least I thought I felt those things.

    But then the line went dead

    And I was back here in the cave， another ghost

    Inhabiting the fourth part of the soul

    And waiting， and still waiting， for the sun to come up.

    Tell them I've had a wonderful life.

    Tell Mr. DeMille I'm ready for my close-up.