Three poems at Davol Square

This is what it
is to be
alive

To wonder if gnarled, twisted
trees far below are as well
alive

Or Byzantian things, men acting
as gods and falsifying green
while gods walk as men
red bricks
glass
red pipes
glass

Sunlight, all above
Is this what it is
to be
Alive?

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What are you, or who,
or once 'gain what
That dances, ephemeral,
Just out of my sight?

Who are you, so haunting
to dance in my dreams, and dare
me to speak
of ineffable things?

As I called you to answer
unformable things, unspeakable things, unkowable
things -
Your feelings now flying
or dancing
Like birds without
Wings

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Old Water Tower
Or something like it
Rusted Monolith, surely
out of use and
patio chairs on
a first story
roof

and glass and brick
and plant and life
and people
walk and talk
and
hustle and bustle

Signs of new life
haunting the slumbering bones
of a dying age.