New York Evening – Autumn 1984

Sparse crowds shadowed wet streets,

In an asphyxiation of color.

There was a scent of anise and eucalyptus.

Crows were full of trees.


It was a distant hiss of mistral.

It was a death-rattle of dishes from the Felix,

And blue and white flowers like stars

Littered the corner of West Broadway and Grand.


Rain whispered a cadence and cascade

In theia mania for no one.


Along the city’s stone canyon,

Our silhouettes became Motherwell umbras

From a senescence of nights we had left years ago.


In red pennons,

A few remaining maples

Defended against October’s last siege

All the way to the East village.


At West Broadway and Grand,

The crows were full of trees.