And babe, don't you know it's a pity
that the days can't be like the nights
in the summer, in the city?
-The Lovin' Spoonful
I don't know; you can give me
a grotesquely hot
sunny day
any day,
and every
night: the same
lone protuberant tree,
old—and frozen
to the spot, a stubborn paragon
whose huge inarticulate
soul I could
stand in
like the shadow
at 2 p.m. that mercifully
subsumes my own.
