I passed them on the road today
as drivers pass the hungry poor,
not giving them a sideward glance.

But if, remembering, I play
the tape back, probably, the door
was opened on me in my trance —

I can’t be certain though. Did they
or did they not hide on the floor
beneath the carbage and the ants?

And did they whisper things to me
in voices soft — the ancient lore
of dolphins by their Vulcan vents?

How shall I know — what can I say?
No image can beguile me more
than octopuses as they dance.

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