In the uncertain hour before the morning
    Near the ending of interminable night
    At the recurrent end of the unending
After the dark dove with the flickering tongue
    Had passed below the horizon of his homing
    While the dead leaves still rattled on like tin
Over the asphalt where no other sound was
    Between three districts whence the smoke arose
    I met one walking, loitering and hurried
As if blown towards me like the metal leaves
    Before the urban dawn wind unresisting.

On the hour appointed and announced
     As the sun nears its apogee
     A paradox of night and day
After the catfish had thrashed and thrust
     Long after the veil had been torn in two
     And the remnants of trembling displayed
Over the doubting, dying, and diminished
     Hung high a new mourning veil
     Behind which light is kept covert
A million spiders weaving traps
     Before the cracks of Plato's cave.