In the Tuileries we came upon the Great Wheel

    rising gargantuan above the trees. Evening

    was coming on. An after-dinner stroll， descending

    by easy stages toward the river， a bridge of leaves

    above us， broken here and there by street lights

    coming on. Our time here nearly over， our return

    home a shadow hovering. Paris， city of returns，

    you said， for the pleasure of it， like the Great Wheel

    looming there above us， all steel & light

    & music， daredevil daunting， against the evening

    sky with the tower in the distance winking. The leaves

    still held firmly， the unthinkable descending

    of what lay ahead undreamt of still， death descending

    inevitably as the Great Wheel in its return，

    （a descent first through summer's golden leaves

    and then bare ruined branches）， the Great Wheel

    turning & returning. As then， with the all but evening

    over us， our wives laughing by the entrance lights，

    we rose above the mansard roofs， the trees， the lights，

    lifting in a vertiginous ascent before descending，

    as we chattered on against the coming on of evening，

    our seat creaking in the rising wind， anxious to return

    now to earth's solidities. Instead， the Great Wheel

    merely sighed and lifted， stopping at the top， leaving

    each of us alone now with our thoughts. The leaves

    below， green， graygreen， gray， the dollhouse roofs， lights

    like diamonds winking， aloof & distant， the Great Wheel

    playing us， two middle-aged men， each descending

    toward the Wheel's one appointed end， the Great Return

    to earth， as the books all have it， come our evening.

    For all our feigned bravado， we could feel the evening

    over us， even as we stared down upon the blur of leaves，

    our wives， our distant children， on all we would return

    to， the way shipwrecked sailors search for lights

    along a distant shore， as we began the last descent，

    leaving the tents and Garden with its Great Wheel

    to return， my dear dead friend， to the winking lights

    along the boulevard， leaves lifting & descending，

    as now the evening air took mastery， it & the Great Wheel.