the music and the mood of
my own movement on a sphere
made it seem I saw the
roundness itself, the presence
of a chain of worlds simultaneous
on a single surface; but
such impressions fade and
the eyes position (in some room,
a home a city) assert their
formal limit on conception.

a trip is world after world
until one smooth surface
is worn for a day, the mind
global, a sphere despite what
is seen; but then lingering
long enough the movement of
the sun establishes horizons,
the whole trip lasts as world
only like the after-effects of
a movie:  for an hour, a day