Photo & Poem Gallery

Live thy Life,
Young and old,
Like yon oak,
Bright in spring,
Living gold;

Summer-rich
Then; and then
Autumn-changed
Soberer-hued
Gold again.

All his leaves
Fall'n at length,
Look, he stands,
Trunk and bough
Naked strength.

I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved? Were we not weaned till then? 
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? 
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers’ den? 
’Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be. 

I have often walked down this street before
But the pavement always stayed beneath my feet before
All at once am I several stories high
Knowing I'm on the street where you live

Are there lilac trees in the heart of town?
Can you hear a lark in any other part of town?

In winter 
    all the singing is in 
         the tops of the trees 
             where the wind-bird 

with its white eyes 

When the panther came

no belfry rang alarums,

no cleric spat his tea.

When the panther came

the sky an lawn were still.

The panther came

through forest,

through field,

up to the wall

and my one blossoming cherry tree.

The jaws of the cliff
Stood square against the soft hands
Of a first snowfall.
 
Yet children do not
Cry out nor do they plead once;
Snow dampens the wood.
 
You had said one thing,
And someone else another;
Outside, winter waits.
 

Happy Holidays, dear New Yorkers!

The fog comes 
on little cat feet. 

It sits looking 
over harbor and city 
on silent haunches 
and then moves on.

Not as on Derwentwater, when the dawn
        Comes dancing o’er Helvellyn, comes the light
        To Lago Maggiore: here the night

All was taken away from you: white dresses,
wings, even existence.
Yet I believe you,
messengers.

There, where the world is turned inside out,
a heavy fabric embroidered with stars and beasts,
you stroll, inspecting the trustworthy seams.