The Error 2

The winter's dainty fete in New York City.

Then was I smitten by intrinsic pleasure,
Momently, by this delicate coming,
Blueshadowed snow upon the backyard's alley,
Amid the clotheslines, the ashcans, and the darkness
And the dun sky of December.

Then I saw,
His vacant face scored by the roof's black line,
The moon's fell ash, which had deceived me wholly,
And with my error I turned back to bed, my brother
Softly sighing his sleep in the bed beside mine.

My brother beside me, the moonlight five floors below,
Now the beginning of uncontrollable fear,
Fear that is formless, emotion without an object,
Like the loose film
Of the darkness about me, rising
Until I pressed my face in the pillow's softness,
Startling sparks in my runaway eyes.

Upon the blackboard of my pillowed eyes
I saw a circle drawn in thick white chalk,
And this was a hole and in this hole, deep down,
I saw my father lying in his coffin, and I
Felt nothing. Then I saw,
That this was no funeral chapel, but a morgue,
For floored there lay pale snow, or colder marble,
And then I saw that this was nothing. Then I knew
That I was in a hole, a coffin and a morgue
And nothing. And in my terror

The Error 3

I struck my head against the bedpost,
In the chaos of terror.

"If I turn on the light",
I said to myself, "if I wake up my brother,
If I switch on the lamp and touch my brother,
If I do that which I can do as easy
As shaking my head" (I shook my head) "and touching
My mouth" (I touched my mouth) "I will see on his face
His daily look, his unconcern (as he gulps down
The wet in his mouth, as his eyes struggle
With the sudden light), his recognition.
And I will know (when he says, "What's the matter")
That nothing is wrong."

Ace-high, tip-top! I drank
My joy, released from pain, in convalescent peace,
In grateful weakness prone.
And I yawned in relief! and I thanked my brother!
I wished that he would be
Near as my hands and feet, near as my heart,
For fifty-six or for ten thousand years,
Until the least of fear lost every shade.

O adulterous night, obscure and obscene,
Known to the elevator boy and the prostitute,
Skated by the street-car, dim as the subway,
O perpetual returning night, picture of death,
You are the blindness in each man's flickering eye,
The blindness I would touch when I tell this,
That then, turning in bed, too near to the edge,
I fell to the carpeted floor like a clown,

The Error 4

Stunned by this fault to broken shocking terror,
Afraid to move, afraid to turn, outstretched,
Afraid of the dim white of my pajamas.

I lifted a shoe from the floor and I slid
My hand over the leather, and then, as if to say,
"How much I know, and knowing, need not fear",
Unlaced the shoe and laced the shoe again,
And all these contacts comforted so much
That I turned to the bed's leg, slid my hands
Down it, slid my bare feet on the carpet's
Felt, and each substance, touched, increased
My calm, my sense thus brushed,
but terror
Returned, terror choking me, and I reached
To the lamp, and I turned on the switch, but then
No light flashed on, and I waited,
And I ran to my brother's bed to wake him,
But the bed was empty, my brother was not there.