When Autumn Comes to Broadway & Maiden Lane
When Autumn Comes to Broadway and Maiden Lane
September 12th
Everywhere the signs are rising: chores
Of definition are what we are about.
Experts rush and counsel; relentless
About the obvious: and possibly, it helps.
But rainfall and star showers: these
Are what we seek, different braveries
To lift the brick and molten glass,
The burnt confetti of bone and steel
That stings the air our hearts inhale.
For us other autumns will rise: days
Of clarity, possibly graced. For now,
We must risk ourselves to find ourselves.
Standing, without you, at the barricade
Of Broadway and blooded Maiden Lane
I am lost: without a map.
Except that you are also stumbling
Or perhaps searching for a version
Of a compass to steer us by.
Is it apricot or bergamot whose taste
In my mouth lingers from yours
Or perhaps just memory’s ache,
More fierce than facts, more tenacious
Than hope, that tests an uncertain
Season with foolish certainties?
What I know is little, but it is this:
Somewhere, west of urban shatter,
Cathedral rocks fill with flowering quince
And scarlet brush parades temptations
More brave than you or I would risk.
Near, though out of present reach,
A cardinal trills its tune: beckoned,
As if to claim what neither facts nor hope
Have rights upon, but yet might teach.
