In panels of summer we drive,
Coursing and turning with simple time,
Remembering which notes to paw over—
The poor bird of conversation,
The good chances we received.
Perhaps a proof of La Fontaine.
This time out, I think
Of the seed raisins and bottled gas,
The bad idea I had once for six years,
Racking my brains
With inadvertent letters, and lost persons.
I confess I got lost here and there,
As New York is like this sometimes,
Thinking of imagery of purpled cypress
As we leisure until afternoon dawns.
Electricity and simple speech. These
Are the sparse and rough requirements,
To stand in the pebbled lot with you
Watching random drops fall into smile,
Considering the advice of quiet rooms.
All these matters of radial color. Schemes
of highbrow living that use to interest you.
APRIL 2009