The Visitor ~

The Visitor ~

 

Cars roll back and forth,

And I could do nothing but give the dark impression,

Of blot which fades into the background into,

A Scene inside of a Union Square café,

As part of its colored spectrum,

The rain cascades in ponderous rivulets,

Hammering against my brain,

And my blue eyes are an electric, crackling ball of fire,

But nevertheless, I am only an impression,

Of elegance, and soft black lines,

Which flatten against my impression,

As I take up the night with my pen.

People walk beneath precarious umbrellas-

And lights, flash,

A taxi rounds the corner, pulling back-

It streamlines into motion,

And suddenly the world clashes in an EMS van, for someone.

Homeless bodies, walk along the sides,

Of the cafes like wandering marionettes,

Slabs of color with random pieces dizzily set-

Articles of life . . .

Pocket-watches and chains, cats, signs, emblems,

A strange talisman-

Which I am unable to ascertain,

Like jokes struggling to make their way onto the scene, somehow.

I find an interesting wash of lights, thronging,

Which line themselves up in a row of sheer logic -

And then I turn my head upside down at them, in a bout of nonsense,

Catching their wink,

But speaking to me something which I don’t-

Quite understand,

Until the fission in the atmosphere, breaks, that old tearing,

And rips into the room and presses its flame-

Into my eyes,

Which light up with a blue circumference.

As I am for my own part remembering a solstice,

By a spirit image which kept an entrance into the hearth-

On which the flames of my heart came with expression,

At the time when my day was the longest,

And then I had short, winter days which blurred,

Into my heart, mind, and the imprint of my faintest notion-

With a measure of cold,

Turning my eyes to a frigid blue Heaven,

But when a visitor fanned heat into the flue which kept-

My heart pumping its roaring cry,

And I, an image blending into the careless throng of the Union Square café’s melee,

Had a snap-shot image of something heretofore unseen,

Which no one else around me could possibly have been aware,

Of, this spirit . . . unnoted,

Which lit up my blue eyes with a circumference of heat,

That was not there a second before that minute . . .

And,

Then it left me, as I removed my gaze from the crackling lights overhead,

And everything returned to as it had been . . .

And the rain and chatter took again their positions,

Again on New York City’s nightly scene.