I remember you! I remember you, Bronx of July, of June.
You left
but you return.
You return!
I, new to changing seasons (whole seasons, longer stories than I ever knew,
each
so separate from the others),
I marvel that the place of last year's story
ever comes back.
The blue, blue sky,
the echo of laughter of source and cause unknown
rebounding off apartment buildings --
we're outside again! ..
the stifling snowhush lifted,
and the kids call out again.
It is, today,
a February's temporary reprieve,
a warning that this setting we've complained about
for months,
this grim gray cave we ride the subway through,
that wets our boots and buries cars and holds us all inside,
it's heard the knell,
has numbered days.
drip
drop
drip drop,
if you listen, you will hear the passings of a dying world;
if you have anything to do
before it falls,
best get it done -- a new world waits,
is peeking in from stage's wings
while snow dissolves.
Prepare the new!
We shall reset and start again
on a new scene.
This says the breeze today on the platform
over 183rd and Jerome.
