the scene was not our sense. in life, the mind
of any man is quick to recognize
natural shams, and then before his eyes
the reed becomes a bird, the knobby twig
an inchworm, and the cobra head, a big
wickedly folded moth. but in the case
of my white fountain what it did replace
perceptually was something that, i felt
could be grasped only by whoever dwelt
in the strange world where i was a mere stray.

and presently i saw it melt away: