March Morning, 1944

Today I remember it all:
The weather’s impeccable manners, 

Sun running a mild temperature
Despite the calendar, a tired breeze
Searching for its second wind
And last week’s snow
A slushy rash on the ground
Once but no longer white.

Above me God’s huge blue
Wide open mouth
Munches angel-food cake
While a chorus of crows
In the choir loft of its singing tree
Recites hymns and proverbs.
“Believe! Believe! Believe!”
They squawk--and why would I not
On a morning so fine
That dogs leave their wags
Behind them.

Then nothing moves,
The world wonderfully perfectly
All to myself, accidentally happened on
Instead of sought,
Streets still as a photograph,
Nobody else out and about.

As I cross the West Side Bridge
The hard river beneath me
Lets out a groan
Each time a new crack appears
In its translucent skin.
Then gives up on winter altogether
And splits into the jagged pieces
Of a giant jigsaw puzzle
Which can’t quite fit itself back together.

Amazing how a little violence
Settles the heart of a ten-year-old boy
Wandering his way through
The long unhurried diligence
Of his childhood.
                        ***