Text: Parade

Eric Davis (b. 1966)
Poetry: Ben Mazer (b. 1964)

These immensities of light there is no distance to
go as far as I would go, a bluejay on a wire.
There is no end to day, nor any end to light
that paints the buildings flat, mapped against themselves.
Through the brilliant trees, the tunnels momently
of avenue and ledge incite a new terrain
dim foreclosed from the crowd. The sweep and surge of things
extends only to you, the poplars’ exploded fuse.
Shielded in each view a witness is concealed.
High in the solitude above the slow parade
the fountain in the day seizes your going by.
There is no corner round the city, is no end
to what the will believes, thrills, relieves, reveals.
Windows black and dim burn in the summer day;
the rivers of the leaves exhort the ancient swells
of travelers within. This silence in the same
as that within the stone in sunlight in the field.
Each is facade, attends upon your return.