It seems too enormous just for a man to be

Walking on. As if it and the empty day

Were all there is. And a little dog trotting

In time with the heat waves, away down

Near the horizon, seeming never to get

Any further. The sun and everything

Are stuck in the same places, and the ditch

Is the same all the time, full of every kind

Of bone, while the empty air keeps humming

That sound it has memorized of things going

Past. And the signs with huge heads and starved

Bodies, dancing suggestive dances in

The heat without moving from where they stand,

And the others big as houses, all promise

But with nothing inside and only one wall,

Tell of other places where you can eat

And drink and get a bath and lie on a bed

Listening to music, and be safe. If you

Look around you see it is just the same

The other way, going back. Maybe hope

Was never anything but feet, and wherever

It heads for it must get there burning.