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.]