UNION SQUARE, 1969 OR SO

Three gods sharing a meal in a dim cafe
Where the waiters have been dead for years
But still work, because the tips are good.
It's grown late but the gods have just
Opened another bottle. One gestures
For the headwaiter to join them.
He takes off his apron, puts on slippers
Sends the busboy for the jeweled crown
Hanging on a nail in the kitchen.

UNSEEN

Angels when they descend to Earth
Make bodies for themselves. Usually,
Condensed air is their medium
But almost anything will do. Sand
Has been used, as well as wheat, pipestems,
Shadows and hand-polished anthracite coal.
There is an angel I have heard of
Who makes himself from abstractions
Running God's errands made of sharpness
Or vain regret. He only once clad himself
In Time which left him chronophobic
For some centuries. Another angel,
Called Hatif, has never been embodied
But comes merely as a voice. Accordingly,
If you were awake at three this morning
And, looking casually from your window,
You saw an angel in the alleyway
Behind your building, his half-furled wings
Almost brushing the walls on both sides
As he accepted a drink from the bottle
Extended towards him by a dirty hand
That was certainly not Hatif. The voice
From nowhere which shouted in your ear
"This is not a show -- go back to bed"?
That was Hatif.

VERLAINE TAKES SOME TIME OFF

Feeling unwell Verlaine was advised

To find somewhere the winter sun.

One of his five unborn brothers –

Scholars disagree which one it was --

Agreed to take his place for a while

Springing from the bottle their mother

Had put him in after her miscarriage.

Over five frenzied weeks he wrote

Thirty three poems and a masque.

When Verlaine returned his brother

Apologized for having shot Rimbaud

Verlaine shrugged and the two

Drank absinthe and drew lots

As to which would go to jail.