You turn the page, the street corner you turn
So that the scenery continues
Unrolling sights that need no instant to learn —
Already shapes embedded in the sinews.
As if the horizon itself were dog-eared,
The east is folded down, the dawn’s just over that crease,
And all the curtain walls, stiff in the night, beleaguered,
From these ink streets new rippling are released.