T.S. ELIOT AT 4.00 PM

Ten thousand pieces on the floor
reconstruct his own jigsaw,
each one shaped at the five sense doors
to compose the picture he is looking for.
Achensee with snowflakes?
Earl Grey tea and cakes?

He cannot hide.
He cannot escape into the seascape’s swell,
nor is the mountainscape more real.
They only serve to cunningly conceal
a Vision of Eternity
that always comes too soon,
the dull and empty
drabness of a Sunday afternoon.

(from OXFORD BLUES)

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