Just closing the door,
quick, leaving home before dawn,
you smell the street-
damp stones, a tang of metal, the cold,
and the forwardness of the steps and puffs of breath,
the velvet darkness on the move, the starkness
of the early things down on the pavement,
sparse coughs lighting it like sparks;
instants of a god in a rush, on the threshold,
whispering with no words but elation,
a nimble sky that touches and goes,
the sprightly wave of a sidelong glance
between hurry and silence.
I was thinking about this poem this morning, feeling again the same wintry, elated atmosphere while leaving home to go to work. It's about streets in Venice even if, for a reader, could be set in any place. I am writing a long poem now on Venetian places and on how they are at one with my whole being...
"A God" is almost ten years old, it appeared in "Dream Catcher" in the spring 2003.