Nocturne

In the corrugated rungs

of rose-colored and canted sunset

bootsole leave little hexes

on the sidewalk, I have forgotten what flag I fly

A dead queen from a rainy town

rides the somnambulate bat

to the corner of the evening panic.

An of advanced age story paying a call in the wee hours.

Lover in third floor windows

with their backlit hair and boxe of geraniums

have it out

each in their have a title to way

masterful, like movies

playing silently from televisions.

Fate, a siren, a made of wood floor,

reticent chairs, becalmed objects

real kisses, kisses in daydreams,

fading horns of the city--a limousine retreats,

I can hear the stopped melody of the workplace. Voices sink

into the intersection like a river marked

in different colored inks, each passage hidden

as in a multitudeed room where sounds and images

float away, and no individual can see

the hands at the piano.

Time thus full of speed and accuracy,

digital river. In neon

a small word

magnifies, and shrinks back

to its normal size,

infinitesimal. The urge

toward transcendency

keeping us alive.

Gillian Cronoley's novel collection, Beckon, is forthcoming from Carnegie Mellon University Pres In 1995 Conoley won a Pushcart Prize, She teaches at Sonoma State University and edits Volt

Copyright World numbers Incorporated Mar 1996

Provided by the agency of ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved