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And so they shone, every one of them, each crazy, everyone a diamond shining the way things shine, each becoming a gleam in his own eyes, deep in the satin lining of their own jackets, and it was no dream just a momentary forgetfulness, a nothing like nothing on earth: Apollinaire’s diadem, a star-shaped, sudden, silent mouthing And they were there, vanished as if forever And we were there and saw them in the flesh with skeletal faces, their hair in long rivers of black, their eyes deep coals and ash, and this was memory or its imagining, ourselves as light as if forever spinning