Poem by Jean Valentine

From “Autumn Day”

[…]

What draws you on so hard?

You would like to think

about resting

a minute on the mobbed walk or

the electrocardiograph table

to ask about the house there—dark ,

stone, floating over the edge of the buildings,

someone, something, it may be, inside--

but you can’t stop here: the dangerous air,

the crowds, the lights, the hardening Indian Summer. . .

strange quiet,

[…]