Hans Ostrom’s poem imagines the soul as an old, small city watched over by a leopard that has stepped out of rain and time. The speaker admits he does not visit this inner place often; daily work pulls him toward “factory-towns of will,” the world of effort and obligation. When he does return, the road is narrow and edged by a cliff, but the leopard waits calmly on a blue ledge. In the city, he meets the people he has tried to be—earlier versions or possible selves—who loiter in a sanguine plaza and know him well. Together they eat in a warm café out of the rain and talk about the leopard, until they merge into one person within the cloud of time. The mood is dreamlike, wistful, and gently uncanny: a quiet meditation on returning to oneself.
The Leopard and the City — Summary
Rain fell out of the cloud of time. It made no argument. Droplets blotched a blond meadow. Out of the pattern a leopard arose. Its eyes reflected the cloud of time.
An old small city is my soul, such as it is. The leopard watches over it, her breathing and her heartbeat syncopated. I do not visit there as often as I should: Work is elsewhere
in factory-towns of will. When the small city seems to call, I take a road curved round a cliff. Up there sits the leopard. The ledge is blue. Arrived, I seek a sanguine plaza. People
I have tried to be loiter there. They slouch and lean and gab. They know me well. Out of the rain in a baked café, we share a meal. We speak of the leopard, become one person in the cloud of time.