High in Hollywood Hills a door opens:
a man disguised as a man appears,

sunglasses on his nose, a beard.
He can smell the flowers—camellia,
bougainvillea—the word,

itself a dream; the reality of the scene
was in the Chinese girl

who swam in the pool beneath
the rail he leaned on:
she was something else indeed.

She was the dream within
the dream within. He shouted: hallo,

halloo.
He did the handkerchief dance all alone.
O Desire! it is the beautiful dress

for which the proper occasion
never arises.

O the wedding cake and the good cigar!
O the souvenir ashtray!