2736

2736
In situ:
The cat.
Two hours have moved
One whisker or another 
On his grave face on the windowsill.
He did move an eye
Once to survey me,
And myself then too.

2735

2734

2733

2732

2731

2731
Oliver Sacks has died
And the brass columns
Hold still,
The pipes at each end threaded,
By caliber and density,
By mathematical qualities,
Are categorized;
In the hand:
The beneficence of solidity.
Now do these brass lines bend, stretch, arc
Most curiously, pleasingly
A rulered solidity still.
How measure a quality
On a different interior
Scale?

2730

2729

2729
The sparrow flew up to greet me,
Watching sharply as I was
The smoke in the sun from my cigarette.
At his second try he was in my eye,
Feathered suitor,
Four storeys balanced in the air.
He knew me I know
From our pavement conversations.
Again he came up
A bit away this time
And with a jut of himself,
Caught his prey.

2728

2727

2726

2725

2724

2724
When in conversation with a field at night,
And bosomed with her as far as we call hers,
What shadowed fork in a listening tree,
Or arc of grass
In  a wind's voice calling,
Would tell of that secret place?

2723

2722

2721

2720

2719