FIVE POEMS
Banished Wonders The American linden sways nonplussed by the storm,a bounce here, a shimmy there, just shaking like musicleft over from the night’s end wafting into the avenues before sleep.I remember once walking down Clinton Street, and singingthat line returning, New York is cold, but I like where I’m living.There’s music on Clinton Street all through the evening. And of coursethere was music, though it was me and my incessant remembering.And here now, what does one even offer?Darling Cockroaches of the Highest Order, hard underthingsof hard underworlds, I am utterly suspicious of advice.What is the world like out there? Are you singing in the tunnels?I should say nothing sometimes.I should say, Memory will leap from the mountain.Dearest purple spiderwort in the ditch’s mud, how did you do it?Such bravery, such softness,…
