His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o’clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Continued here.
(Image: "Free Fallin," by Jake Longenecker, winner of The Scotch Off the Roll Tape Sculpture Contest, via My Modern Met)
The Dish 