WAINWRIGHT MOUNTAIN
          
East Path
Wherever you go fields are fluffy and white
And the steps you leave behind are there again
When you come back. Deer tracks crisscross it
The impressions making a record of the size
Direction speed and time of day it happened.
          
Individual stalks of goldenrod and a dark plant
With broken flowers stick up together above it.
Powder and seeds are gone but the shells keep open
To the end. Walking around the edge you watch out
For barbs and briars that poke through the cover.

On the woods road back from Cedar Swamp a smooth grey
New forest of maple springs up and snaps back.
The black interior is a jumble of branches roots
Fallen trees rocks and empty pits between them.
You stumble around the obstructions by wet bark with lichen.

Coming out it's easier to follow where the clearing
Makes a gash of light ahead. Crossing the brook
Water in a pool lies quiet and clear under the ice.
Along with the next breath you take in high ledge
Close by and a view of distant hills in clouds.

plATTsBURgh
Shopping in town for things you need you stop for a bite.
Two fat girls at the all-you-can-eat buffet go back
Again and the sports lettering sticks out in front of them.
One is bigger with a boy cut. The tail is bobbed
And the fabric behind loosens and pulls tight over the rump.
          
Back at the table they look up working their mouths
And when the one with long hair flicks her head
Gold rings on the ears match the ones on the fingers.
Some text is hidden and it's hard to read. Next time
You watch they're gone and you don't see them leave.

Offduty servicemen in boots chow down together
Their heads glasses and hair sticking above the camouflage.
A grey lady has a scarecrow with her. She examines
Her dish and wipes it with a napkin. They hover
Over the food taking their time with the choices.

There's a price to pay for these perceptions
And the waitress brings the account. The fortune you open
Offers a wise consolation or points to an unverifiable future.
Passing between the meals on the way out your feet clack
On the plastic floor and you can't see where you've been.

Feinberg Library
Winter break the fifties entrance is all glass blank walls
And an oversize head. A brass plaque reminds you
Who saved the place after a bad fire in '29.
The institutional sculpture suggests the human mind
Abandoned to the worst possible considerations.

In periodicals recent opinion is spread out
In a clutter on the shelves the voices giving lip service
To life as they know it. The old ones
Are crammed on stacks behind in buckram bindings
Over heavy board that muffles the sound.

You find a silent page and run the words
Through the intricate channels you have to make them audible
Trying to learn how it goes with them after death.
Closing time they blink the lights and a bright girl smiles
And holds open the door for you still talking to another.

She accepts him in a further step of the selection process
Facing him square on in the confines of the auto front seat
The soft eyes briefly meeting his before the lips touch.
The moon on the way home makes a similar passage
And a spray of resinous needles brushes your face with it.

1/14/95  Jay  NY