Balcony Scene

Up — or out? — here:

a problem of preposition,

my uneasy relation

with the world. Whether I’m

above it or apart. On the other side

of the latched glass door, a man

loves me. Worries. Calls my name.

                     •

Where — for art — thou-

sands of windows go dark

in slow succession. On Essex

and Ludlow and Orchard.

A thousand times goodnight.

                     •

A boy throwing stones at a window.

Right window, wrong boy.

                     •

Love goes toward love — 

And the place death, down there

waving its white kerchief —