Balcony Scene

Up — or out? — here: a problem of preposition, my uneasy relation with the world. Whether I’m above it or apart. On the other side of the latched glass door, a man loves me. Worries. Calls my name. • Where — for art — thou- sands of windows go dark in slow succession. On Essex and Ludlow and Orchard. A thousand times goodnight. • A boy throwing stones at a window. Right window, wrong boy. • Love goes toward love — And the place death, down there waving its white kerchief —