64
If you ask me about the plans that I made last night
of steel and granite—
I think the sun must have melted them,
or this gentle wind blown them away.

65
I once tore up a sapling to make myself a stick:
it clung to the earth, but I cut away its roots,
stripped off its twigs and bark;
a woman passing nodded her head as if to say, What a pity,
and I had no joy of the stick and threw it away.

66
If there is a scheme,
perhaps this too is in the scheme,
as when a subway car turns on a switch,
the wheels screeching against the rails,
and the lights go out—
but are on again in a moment.