Were the world a paraphrase upon an unclear text     Were the world a paraphrase upon an unclear text it would be written on the person that I am and all the glossing actions of a day mirrored on the need for journeying; summer's multitudes to winter's singleness, where narrow paraphrase becomes the word by which the flighted summer comes without the forward glance. The commentary age, the scarcely broken deep, the time that wakes the onward edge of sleep.       The Muffled Drum