And accumulate on the wet street And on the roofs, hoods, and trunks of firemen's cars Parked in front of the bicycle shop. Already the firemen have gone out twice Since I sat down in this canvas chair, But both times were only false alarms. On her head walks carefully past, hugging a book or package inside her pink ski jacket.
Snow falls like lint shaken from a lint trap.
But now Lucy's wrestling with the real Burglar, thinking it's only Ethel. Softly as mosquitoes the snowflakes fall. My eyes will shrivel to dust, but Hayama, And the harsh-voiced tobi flying above the steep ridges there, Will outlast the emperor's compound there, And lovers will always gather shells there, Whenever the sea there is still or in motion, Even in the middle of the winter. He almost Seems to wince With sympathy when I stop writing And look up At him. He Looks out with An all-sufficient Certainty that he Will never be Invisible.