The shadow of specter

I am walking on the streets of New York’s Union Square and I hear the sound of things.
Rhythms—harmony—discontinuity—immanent moments—instances—permanent silhouettes dissolving and reemerging; scattered forms and drifting masses of disclosed time, concealing all things as things that never dwell anywhere, but in the unseen trace and space of things.
Oh, it is nice to feel ecstatic. It is nice not to be alone and to be among you, where anguish and mental bunkerization is gone. I am still I, as long as I am the wondering and gazing eye