Did time on the Hegelian
    spirit, Freudian id,
    the totemic response to
    the unknowable
    where each phenomenon of nature
    became dream time itself,
    the electric crackle
    of God's Voice-
    movement from shadowy spectre to
    tight-lipped showmanship
    the learned empathy
    of tires careening around
    their throttled load.

That shadow, my likeness, that goes to and fro, seeking a livelihood, chattering, chaffering;
How often I find myself standing and looking at it where it flits;
How often I question and doubt whether that is really me;
But in these, and among my lovers, and caroling my songs,
O I never doubt whether that is really me.