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A blindness unknown to itself might as well be vision,

So I opened the door that had been my shield and walked out

Into the coils of wind and blurred tattoos of light

That marred the ground. The day lay cold upon my skin.

"Out of my way," I said to whatever was waiting, "Out of my way."

In a trice the purple thunder drew back, the tulip dropped

Its petals, the path was clear. I headed west, over the Great

Divide, and down through canyons into an endless valley.

Oh my, I had stepped into a mode I wasn't prepared for.

I was happy. The air was pure, the houses were vacant,

And none of the fields was ploughed. That's what I loved.