A Coney Island of the Mind, 19
In woods where many rivers run among the unbent hills and fields or our childhood where ricks and rainbows mix in memory although our ‘fields’ were streets I see again those myriad mornings rise when every living thing cast its shadow in eternity and all day long the light like early morning with its sharp shadows shadowing a paradise that I had hardly dreamed of nor hardly knew to think of this unshaved today with its derisive rooks that rise above dry trees and caw and cry and question every other spring and thing
From A Coney Island of the Mind. Copyright © 1958 by Lawrence Ferlinghetti. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp.