ASCENSION: AUTUMN DUSK IN CENTRAL PARK

Featureless people glide with dim motion through a quivering blue silver;

Boats merge with the bronze-gold welters about their keels.

The trees float upward in gray and green flames.

Clouds, swans, boats, trees, all gliding up a hillside

After some gray old women who lift their gaunt forms

From falling shrouds of leaves.

Thin fingered twigs clutch darkly at nothing.

Crackling skeletons shine.

Along the smutted horizon of Fifth Avenue

The hooded houses watch heavily

With oily gold eyes.