FROM SOUTH FERRY, RUNNING NORTH

After the last night has been uncreated again
The unsaying words which made it not be echo
For a moment or two. Stars slowly flicker on;
Feathers conjure themselves into birds;
The dead who'll soon have never died embrace.
The shadow of the Third Avenue El casts
Thirty miles of track and seventeen stations
Before remembering the line's remains
Were hauled off during the Fall of 1956.