EPIPHENOMENON

3 4 Y E P I P H E N O M E N O N E R I C P A N K E Y The lizard, born it seems of fissures, Skims and quivers up the rock-wall, Insinuates itself between chipped mortar And a holdfast of lemon thyme And is gone, resorbed again into stone. . Another nameless spectacle, the man thinks, As he opens the door and a new day enters with him. He moves from room to room, Pulls the black crepe from the mirrors, Finds himself reflected there in each. ...