Where Blind Men Walk

Where blind men walk the buildings tell Their definition to the smell, The ancient, practised stones exude An odor of their latitude, And the familiar living room Exists by its unique perfume.

Where blind men walk the streets proclaim That surfaces are not the same, But burst into articulate spines Sharp as the Lunar Appenines, Or murmur to receptive feet Harmonies of musique concrète.

Where blind men walk blank spaces show Themselves as perilous vertigo. Green levels of a field of grass Harbor the infinite crevasse, Nor effort of horizon bars The final gulf beyond the stars.

Alert, like radios tuning in Languages wholly alien, In simultaneous command Of this, and an uncharted, land, Through a prioris of our talk, Eluding them, the blind men walk.