On the train, things seen once:
Egret, statue of the marsh border
Symbol of me in the truss
There is the life I live
There is the man with the swollen leg
whimpering through the subway
There is the building of brick and metal, covered in grime
The wall is a bare pastel of irrelevant color:
somewhere the math is wrong.
I have forgotten where to construct the metaphor.
The last time I remember peace I was by the ocean.
I was not at peace, but I saw it. It was simply
a movement in the harbor, the boats and planes in their routes through the Boston harbor
the drunk people in their yachts shouting
the musicians roaring by the hotel
the dogs with short legs pulled along
the ladybugs in the cobblestone cracks and
the mosquitoes biting at the ankles
And none of us were at peace, and the harbor was at peace.