and the neon when it’s cold outside
and the highway when it’s late at night;
got the radio on –
i’m like the roadrunner.
just like you’ve done before,
and wrap my heart round your little finger.
He suspected that he was beginning, ten years too late, to discover who he was; and the figure he saw was both more and less than he had once imagined it to be. He felt himself at last beginning to be a teacher, which was simply a man to whom his book is true, to whom is given a dignity of art that has little to do with his foolishness or weakness or inadequacy as a man. It was a knowledge of which he could not speak, but one which changed him, once he had it, so that no one could mistake its presence.