It’s fine to say a surface thought, It seems so very true. But there’s a fugitive inside Who’d have us hear another view. She wants to talk, so let her speak. Perhaps we’ll find forensic clue. As riddles roll, we’ll test her heart, And see good sense her thoughts undo, Until they make themselves a part Of fancies floating through her brain, The long-lost ventures of her heart, That send up answers, sometimes pain. In pursuing her, there’s always risk She’ll take offense, go far away. Misrepresenting, sounding weird, Could squelch the thing she wants to say. As we spoke of vanished scenes, Of what we once had thought and said, Of what had been, and might have been, And who was changed, and who was dead, So it was we met and parted, When thus dressed-up she came to test. While true she was in many senses, The true thing lay at rest.