Thousands pounce the windshield
As the cars move through space
Under the whole's baton
That swings in my mind like a lantern,
As if to music already there
And the cars would appear
Without my eye.
The mad clavinet that plays in my head
Overtakes their sound
For the feeling of gold
Beyond the Norm's sign.
It must be open all night
As they claim,
How else could each booth tell its secret
From a room I have never seen?
