The train which is incessantly pulling away
Out of the station
Into the distant blackness of its tunnel
Is the aspects of people’s souls which,
In their subterraneousness, cannot be seen.
These aspects have to do with immediacy.
They are here before our eyes
And then they are gone,
Having rolled away with constant certain acceleration
On their glittering steel tracks.
In running up the stairs
And out of the tunnel into the sunlight
We are going away from perception,
From patient thought about that which is hard to see.

There is no subterranean aspect
Which does not show itself,
And there are no feet which are not driven
To run away up flights of stairs,
Leaving it to rumble and clatter and whisper
Down in its passages, unobserved.