Sometimes I get radiant drunk when I think of and/or look at you,
Upstaged by our life, with me in it.
And other mornings too
Your care is like a city, with the uncomfortable parts
Evasive, and difficult to connect with the plan
That was, and the green diagonals of the rain kind of
Fudging to rapidly involve everithing that stood out,
and doing so in an illegal way, but it doesn´t matter,
It´s rapture that counts, and what little
There is of it is seldom aboveboard,
That´s is nature,
what we take our cue from.
It masquerades as worry, first, then as self-possession
In which I am numb, imagining I am this vision
Of ships stuck on the tarpaper of an urban main,
at nigth, coal starts glinting,
and you the ruby ligths bung far above on pylons,
Seeming to own the nigth and the nearer reaches
Of a civilization we feel as ours,
The lining of our old doing.(John Ashbery)
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