The Dirty Roan & the Drinking House

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          — for Luca

The dirty roan

Elapses from its recent

Roll in the hay.

Eclipsed skies

Ruddy a twice-

Canvassed background

That resembles

A riverine border

Snaking toward an oil-

Slicked gulf. Distillates

& arguments litter

Our little neighborhood

On the Lower East Side

& a red bridge arches its way

Into another moonless borough.

The once-stabled city

Has given way — as have we —

& we ruminate on the muddy

Brown tin ceiling in this mid-town

Drinking house not far from the newly

Reconfigured square. The roan rises

From its knees like a ghost

& upscale tenements & shiny

Galleries decorate the vintage

Once-cobbled streets.

Would there were darkness —

Mobled, serene, a place

Where the life of leaves

Took place & the air

Was clear & comprehensible.