One by one they appear in
the darkness: a few friends, and
a few with historical
names. How late they start to shine!
The blue jay scuffling in the bushes follows
Some hidden purpose, and the gush of birds
That spurts across the field, the wheeling swallows,
Have nested in the trees and undergrowth.
It was your birthday, we had drunk and dined
Half of the night with our old friend
Who'd showed us in the end
To a bed I reached in one drunk stride.
I am too young to grow a beard
But yes man it was me you heard
In dirty denim and dark glasses.
I look through everyone who passes
I wake up cold, I who
Prospered through dreams of heat
Wake to their residue,
Sweat, and a clinging sheet.
The snail pushes through a green
night, for the grass is heavy
with water and meets over
the bright path he makes, where rain
Cats met us at
reclining in the sun
to check us in
It mounts at sea, a concave wall
Down-ribbed with shine,
And pushes forward, building tall
Its steep incline.
I shall not soon forget
The greyish-yellow skin
To which the face had set:
Lids tights: nothing of his,
In the silence that prolongs the span
Rawly of music when the record ends,
The red-haired boy who drove a van
In weekday overalls but, like his friends,