In the park I had one by the pond
On which a solitary boy
Had dispatched his miniature boat.
An October afternoon, the sun
Hidden and a dark clarity
Sitting on the textured water.
The green of the trees rich too, blending
With the verdigris roof of the nearby
Pavilion to create an enclave of beauty.Earlier I had been to the Whitney, the Hoppers
Offering their vision of atomized America,
And the Met, where I saw, among Avedon’s
Portraits of swells, several Southwest
Drifters beyond any use for the spoken word
Or the people who utter them, and sat
When I could no longer stand in the presence
Of their rootless ways.Just a few things I want you now to know
As evidence that I was here.October 2002