GATES OF ALTOONA
Marvelous hings, like benefactors, arise out
of nowhere to carry you home : the small noise
in the yellowed harbor, pale in moon and dark in
sun, is nothing but the slap of water on an old,
tired wharf. Everyone has left. You are once
again alone. That solo lets you see.
-
You remember other times : the girl by the
wavering pine, with her glitter and chafe, all
that silk of scarf around her neck. She
let herself become yours, and then, over
time, it all disappeared. Now, back to
that persuading gulf again, you sit up,
late nights, staring out to the harbor boats.
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