Who Is He Dares Enter These My Woods Poem by Ernest Hilbert

I'm late for work. I can't figure what's wrong
At first, but then I feel the peaceable kingdom
That the daily rush-hour leaves in its wake.
I hail Miss Bonnie, who's puffed as an autumn
Woodchuck in her billowing brand-new plum
Summer dress, offer her my arm, and take
Her bag. She sighs "my knees are bad today"
As I help her into the van that takes her
To the museum. At the trolley-stop,
An elegant, antique gentleman sways
Slightly to and fro in the pollen-soaked air,
Tapping his cane on the gum-stippled blacktop,
Blind behind big black plastic glasses.
He smiles, so I do too, and then I steer
Him to the trolley steps and find myself a seat.
University students off to noon classes
Climb on, more at each stop, unkempt, sincere,
Slumping in public pajamas, entering Tweet
And text to slim slabs of cheerful light.
At Fifteenth I'm off and up the stairs.
Oldenberg's season-streaked Clothespin
Is an obelisk in its imperial height,
Brooding over a day's urgent affairs
And remorseless commerce, and I wander,
Timeless, in a Pliocene daze until I spot her
On colonial cobblestones, a glint
Of recognition, a wave, and, surprised,
I clumsily reach to embrace her, skin
Cold as clouds, and without a hint
Of hesitation she holds the embrace, eyes
Neptune blue, still thin as a flamingo—I
Feel her spine, serrated under my palms, so odd
To see her here with me in the future,
One more suddenly-woken creature.
We laugh, but it's already later than
I know, and as I try to whisper goodbye
A rancid garbage truck's long sauropod
Snore drowns me out and the mounting sun
Breaks into a crown, vast and intimate,
Like an ending eclipse—a bright instant
Over tall buildings, a distant cool flare
Makes me clamp my eyes shut in the infinite
Noise and forfeiture of spring and I forget,
For an uncertain step, how on earth I got here.