1063

FIREMAN WITH FIREARM

The trees in the gold crescent
Are dropping twigs of squirrels' choosing.
The watchers are elsewhere. It isn't just
The visible world of warm light and fresh breeze,
Reflecting in the dark the time as it skids,
And how does it do that, anyway? A big
Mirror of heat? It's the embrace
Of the layout of this soccer arena I now see
Breaks upon all the way down St Marks
To the clouds cover the New Jersey banks
O the lordly Hudson. A blinding o
Glances off a tipped bicycle. I remember
Loren T., the senior when I was a
Freshman who told me when I got to college
Since he was mugged he's carried a gun.
What happened to that dumpster world,
A shattered cassette streams its brown and shiny guts
As a metal thing kicked along the walk
Jingles over a bump in the hexagons
A root is making. Winter isn't done,
And I'm only visiting.