2.17

The Muses, strange in the dotted clouds and skys,
Strange in the jumbled rocks and hills,
Strange in the threading boulevards,
Strange in the solid houses placed on addresses all their long
     lives,
Strange in all lands as fleeting visitors, vortices, engrossing
     what is known,
Straight lines shivered in their certainty,
The Muses create—the Muses also destroy.