FOUR
Eye travels out to the headland, black sphinx couchant
on the night's field; then over the harbor, horizon lit
from below by invisible Boston; finally rises, to Venus,
to Altair. Wherever I look in the beautiful box of space,
an effortless journey. The fourth dimension is time--
just try to see through it. Too late to sleep, says the peevish
clock in my brain. Sleeping, says body, deep in night's
furrow. It comes and it goes, says his breathing beside me.
Once I imagined Einstein's time as a track made of light
that the space-train followed,
going somewhere, the wake of its going
still bright behind us. Yes, I remember.
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