We keep looking
but Ulysses has not returned.

Maybe he’ll arrive
driving an electric car,

maybe she’s the crackhead
at the corner,

sand-coloured highlights
in her hair.

But why is it up to me
to carry the carnival?

The glitter’s too heavy.
All this tinsel.

Yet listen…

Those muffled drums…
That velvet pedal on the bass drum…
Yes, sand behind means sand ahead.

When I was in the peace movement
we thought the monstrous white carbide star
...