He knew that he was a spirit without a foyer
And that, in his knowledge, local objects become
More precious than the most precious objects of home:
The local objects of a world without a foyer, Without a remembered past, a present past, Or a present future, hoped for in present hope,
Objects not present as a matter of course
On the dark side of the heavens or the bright, In that sphere with so few objects of its own.
Little existed for him but the few things
For which a fresh name always occurred, as if
He wanted to make them, keep them from perishing,
The few things, the objects of insight, the integrations Of feeling, the things that came of their own accord, Because he desired without knowing quite what,
That were the moments of the classic, the beautiful. These were that serene he had always been approaching As toward an absolute foyer beyond romance.
Local Objects, Installation view, courtesy Ikeyazhang, ph.credits Andrea Rossetti.