The Street of Named Houses (135th Street, Harlem)

My Sun,

You smile at the granite of Milton,

Glare on the windows, dazzle the doors,

Dancing on this universe of five floors,

Shining your face around the place.

No matter what you have done,

My Wind,

The birds of Howard’s ledges don’t mind

That you preen with little wind the black crown

Of feathers, disturb the mild down

At the bead eyes, surprise the dark seeds

At the beak.  Young girls find,

My Rain,

What is silent and small with Lorraine –

That is the fine spray.  The hands,

Palm up, reach as divining wands;

To know your warm water, they bathe the wrists, arms,

And skirts.  Corinne cannot contain,

My Snow,

Her women.  At the doors and every window

They appear, and in all your cold they talk

And frost the glass;  they note the men that walk

Past, in and out.  They comb the white hair, wear

Flowers on a housecoat.  I know,

My Moon,

Now that sleep is coming soon;

Dreams are to touch all eyes.  Sweet Helen

Falls asleep again.

Light of your face, slow shadows

Singing on a wall, come to dance.  Soon, Soon,

My love.

Published in The New Yorker magazine, October 29 1966