Stevens in a Swarm of Gnats
The man wearing the tailored suit, casually
Overdressed: in the midst of this confusion
He loses track (though not direction, bearing,
Altitude). It may be he loses faith
In his loss of faith. Maybe never. Perhaps,
As with everything, he always had it. But these
Tiny, dark, annoying, air-scribbling, vaguely
Malicious things keep buzzing around him like
Electrons about a nucleus, interstellar debris
In manic orbit around some host planet,
Equally attracted and repelled by its gravity,
Product of its mass-until, somewhere beyond
Desperation, he resolves to do nothing more
Than grin and bear it. He is clumsy, he knows:
A great, hulking giant standing out of doors