It Is All Revealed, in a Sense

​It is all revealed, in a sense,
Everything permissible, everything
That swings from thought to thought,
All the balls of hail that ping

And bounce upon the sidewalk,
All the freewheeling, the canvases,
All of it is free, from Houston Street
To Salsbury, the drinks that fizz,

The soul picks up its leather 
Luggage, it’s standing at the top
Of a hill with a long scarf
And no way that it can drop,

But—it still hasn’t found
A house to live in, it still
Hasn’t found a tower, it
Cannot yet cross the sill

And take the car, it still
Cannot travel thoughout
The length and breadth of the mind
And history, inside and out.