Pearl Street

moon in the serene sky of autumn

binge and purge
as it turns
over my restless sleep

in the oddly slanted apartment
off Prospect Avenue
you could drop a marble
and have it roll the length
past the old-fashioned
embroidered doilies
and a bookshelf holding
Bachelard's
Poetics of Space

samsara
in its New England guise
Cambridgeport
towards the river

leaves swept back and forth
by an unhousewifely
wind

the past cluttered with
its collections
its tiger lilies
its salt ponds

its betrayals

a glass of
white wine
then--red

the neighbor keeps bees
between triple deckers
sustained on thistle
and potted fuchsia, geranium, basil
gone to white flower

we both wonder
how much longer
this can go on

a habit of survival,
coffee drips,
the neighbor steals--collects-- the honey
and shares it
golden in a glass jar

famous poets die
along with the ones
who actually were our friends

you could drop
a marble
and see it roll
the length
          of what is
          unrequited

-- Miriam Sagan