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I don't know what to do.
Yesterday I looked out my window
And saw the neighbor working on his car.
He looked up at the sky
As if thinking,
And suddenly he took the form
Of a many-armed glowing blue god
With fire blazing like a frame around him.
Vines grew over the car
And bloomed in big trumpets:
I could smell their sweetness
Then he seemed to think
Of what he was trying to remember,
And he dwindled to his regular self
And got back to work on the car.
My questions are:
Should I tell him?
And, does this happen to everyone?
When one man has reduced a fact of the imagination to be a fact to his understanding, I foresee that all men will at length establish their lives on that basis. ---H. D. Thoreau