A cornerstone. Marble pilings. Curbstones and brick.
I saw rooftops. The sun after a rain shower.
Liz, there are children in clumsy jackets. Cobblestones
and the sun now in a curbside pool.
I will call in an hour where you are sleeping. I’ve been walking
for 7 hrs on yr name day.
Dead, I am calling you now.
There are colonnades. Yellow wrappers in the square.
Just what you’d suspect: a market with flowers and matrons,
Beauty walks this world. It ages everything.
I am far and I am an animal and I am just another I-am poem,
a we-see poem, a they-love poem.
The green. All the different windows.
There is so much stone here. And grass. So beautiful each
translucent electric blade.
And the noise. Cheers folding into traffic. These things.
Things that have been already said many times:
leaf, zipper, sparrow, lintel, scarf, window shade.
You stand far from the crowd, adjacent to power. You consider the edge as well as the frame. You consider beauty, depth of field, lighting to understand the field, the crowd. Late into the day, the atmosphere explodes and revolution, well, revolution is everything. You begin to see for the first time everything is just like the last thing only its opposite and only for a moment. When a revolution completes its orbit the objects return only different for having stayed the same throughout. To continue is not what you imagined. But what you imagined was to change and so you have and so has the crowd.