by Paul Mariani

    In the Tuileries we came upon the Great Wheel

    rising gargantuan¹ above the trees. Evening

    was coming on. An after-dinner stroll， descending²

    by easy stages toward the river， a bridge of leaves

    above us， broken here and there by street lights

    coming on. Our time here nearly over， our return

    home a shadow hovering³. Paris， city of returns，

    you said， for the pleasure of it， like the Great Wheel

    looming⁴ there above us， all steel & light

    & music， daredevil daunting⁵， against the evening

    sky with the tower in the distance winking⁶. The leaves

    still held firmly， the unthinkable descending

    of what lay ahead undreamt of still， death descending

    inevitably⁷ as the Great Wheel in its return，

    （a descent first through summer's golden leaves

    and then bare ruined branches）， the Great Wheel

    turning & returning. As then， with the all but evening

    over us， our wives laughing by the entrance lights，

    we rose above the mansard roofs， the trees， the lights，

    lifting in a vertiginous⁸ ascent⁹ before descending，

    as we chattered¹⁰ on against the coming on of evening，

    our seat creaking in the rising wind， anxious to return

    now to earth's solidities. Instead， the Great Wheel

    merely sighed and lifted， stopping at the top， leaving

    each of us alone now with our thoughts. The leaves

    below， green， graygreen， gray， the dollhouse roofs， lights

    like diamonds winking， aloof¹¹ & distant， the Great Wheel

    playing us， two middle-aged¹² men， each descending

    toward the Wheel's one appointed end， the Great Return

    to earth， as the books all have it， come our evening.

    For all our feigned¹³ bravado¹⁴， we could feel the evening

    over us， even as we stared down upon the blur¹⁵ of leaves，

    our wives， our distant children， on all we would return

    to， the way shipwrecked sailors search for lights

    along a distant shore， as we began the last descent，

    leaving the tents and Garden with its Great Wheel

    to return， my dear dead friend， to the winking lights

    along the boulevard， leaves lifting & descending，

    as now the evening air took mastery， it & the Great Wheel.

上一篇：Beach Glass 下一篇：Be Glad Your Nose is on Your Face