To the Author of Glare
There comes a time when the story turns into twenty different stories and soon after that the academy of shadows retreats to the cave of a solitary boy in a thriving metropolis where no one remembers the original story which is, of course, a sign of its great success: to be forgotten implies you were once known, and that is something we can prize more than the gesture greater than the achievement: but I wander from the main point: the main point is one among many fine dots so fine you need a microscope to see them but then they multiply like germs: the work of the deepest cells is ergonomically incorrect, but effective nevertheless, like my footprints in the snow leading to you, who would be my father if this were a dream and I on the verge of waking up somewhere other than home: but the hours remain ours, though they were gone almost as soon as they arrived, hat and coat in hand.
[Glare is a book of poetry by A. R. Ammons.]
From Boston Review, April/May 1998. Copyright © 1998 by David Lehman. All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission of the author.