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07/19/08
By Nightfall All the way down this southbound interstate, Out of St. Louis, I gaze into an amazingly pervasive haze, Which protects my eyes from abrading light That, otherwise, would blind me.
Somebody's looking out for me, this liberating Saturday, As I drive past Cape Girardeau, Toward Memphis and beyond, My ultimate destination Oxford, Mississippi... Somebody who knows my vision's afflicted with cataracts
And, apparently, has a vested interest In guiding me, safely, to afternoon's denouement, Making certain that I have no excuses For aborting this rendezvous with my past, At that holiest of literary shrines, Rowan Oak —
The somnolent, ghost-populated monument To which, in my younger seasons, I pilgrimaged, So my imagination might imbibe the inspiring ichor Of the genius who once resided in that secluded purlieus, Hiding from the phantoms he hadn't yet left behind.
By nightfall, assuming that providence Doesn't deny me communion with resident spirits Waiting to welcome me home, I should be able to locate my soul again, As it roams the shadows, with Benjy, Quentin, and Dilsey.
07/19/08
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