A Midsummer Night’s Stroll

I. I am a man.  I’ve lived alone.  I’ve been  in  love.  I’ve  played  with fire, cursed the telephone, and basked in verse, in verve, and also Humid,     terrestrial,     mixed,     nongenderspecific, have   occasionally day’s  tumult  ushers  in   an evening with  a  lone moved  a  woman’s shut   icecream   stand,   false  promises  of  cone heart,  although  I also, and  scoop  near  Central  Park.   Juneific famously,  had  such  an awk- are   the   silhouettes  of   people  dreaming  by, ward   start.  Amazed  at lips,   lit   cigarette   tips,   thoughts  and  tulips  streaming  by how  much along   dimly   hospitable   park   lamps  toward  eleven symmetry  a  life with  an  occasional   rev   of   internal   combustion can  still  support,  I wafted   across   from   nearabouts. stare  in  rapt  near-idiocy,  like  a “What’s   this   you  are  talking  about,  Sarah?” foreign   passport, and you   hear  a  voice,  and   the  reply,  “I’m  sorry. April’s   Persian  lilacs but  what  was  I  supposed  to  do?”  Two   bats all  bloom  straight  into dash   through   a  silver  stretch  of  atmosphere. my  face,  and  various What   she   was  supposed  to  do   we  never  hear, other   blossom, too, depending on each case, while  you  are  softly  tangible, while  you are sweetly mine. We’re existentially  wise,  we’re  mortally divine. II. All whispers  know  where  whispers  go  and  lusters  where  with lusters flow, and when your palm is in my palm, just as my poem There  is   a  sparkling   tone  to  how  you   speak, is  in  your  poem,  look a   quickness   to   your   whisper,   an   implied at   this   stellar,  cellular, correctness   in   your   ironies.   We   stride organic   life   of   mine,   the along   emphatic   benches   in   the   weak general  and  particular,  the light   bristling   eloquent   dark.  Pine,   elm  and  oak gross  (as  well   as fall  silent  now  to  hear  you  tell  a  joke— fine)  intentions  I  epitomize. something  about  a  man  and  a   mandrake; Look,  seeing  through  its I think  it  cute  and  laugh  like  Captain  Drake. thin disguise the bleary We  then  explore  the  vagaries  of  light sky  whose   weepy  eyes  have found  underfoot  by  lamps,  and  kiss.  “Beatrix, rained   us  a  surprise. will    you   still   need   me  when   I’m   thirty-six?" A    lightning    bolt’s You   favorably   mumble  that  you  might, protruding  hand  snatched and  throw  a  willing  arm  around  my  nape. past us,  far and brief and I reassure you that there’s no escape. as  I  hold  you  in  my  arms,  you fill me with belief. Don’t wonder if and how, much  stranger  than right now, the  hyacinth of  sorrow may blossom  forth tomorrow. III. The  stars  in  liquid  decadence  reclaim  their  lost  positions, all knotty dispositions dissolved in limpid dance. They offer us their Another   couple   floats  up  through  thickened  ink stardom.   Oh,   we into  the  field  of  vision,  to  redissolve could  sympathize  with  them, leaving  a  thin  trail  of   perfume  and  love but   instead,  we   set  eyes and   visual   recollection  in   the  pink. with   them  upon  that  higher Cicadas   cataract  from  tree  to  tree. tsardom,  that  real  of  love  and A mock  nightingale  trills,  then  two,  then  three. reason.  Our  lengthy We  cut   short  across  grass  and  leaves  (then  four), cigarettes  crackle encountering   no  one  on  our  slight  detour with   dry  regrets  during where,   negligibly   burdened   with  a   sixpack, the  rainy   season,  but a  master  and  his  bulldog  rustle  on, we  ignore  their  humors, their a   small   red   light   fixed   to   her   furry   back. melancholy  murmurs, We  are  too  busy  with  our  love  to  see  them. decline   ascetic  rigors, Tomorrow   we’ll   be   going   back   to  Boston. welcome  straight  facts, Three   cheers   for   Central   Park  at   height   of   season. clear    figures, where   laws  concerning  numbers  come  plumed  with  midnight sounds, and spirits  stir  from  slumbers  like  angels out of clouds.