Melville and my Sight

Once again, at the begin again,
Travel wondered if he could trust my eyes
As I begged him to expect another rally,
Another return. To the point which
I wondered if I loved myself,
Or simply adored my other
Half as it circled before me-
Dancing incandescent in the scavenger room.

Melville felt the presence of Bartleby,
He told me so as I swooned in simile-
Certainly deceived by prognostication
A slim chance invaded my steps
Forcing a change of course, a turnabout
Mother called "stopping for dinner".

Melville was riding a passage,
A naturalist dissecting life forms
I plumed and gawked to be character-
"What are we having?" in a moment's pause.