The course is straight between there and here.
Like a hot iron brought to bear on damp and wrinkled chinos,
The dog shit and delights of the past
Conform to a knife-edge crease
That leads from there to here
Without any other option.
The course is straight between here and there.
The fiddling, fulminating fears
Have come and gone enough times now
So that all those wrinkles lose their daunting force.
The way is straight
What other option is there?
The course is straight from here to here.
The doldrums and disasters,
Seen as through a telescope up ahead or way back when,
Play melodies of wrinkled passion --
Of meaning and belief -- but still,
In fact, betweens take too much energy.
The course is straight.
What other course could there be?