Downtown's in a shambles of air
whistling past brick and glass.
Herds of clouds rustle over,
shadows roll across
concrete, steel, macadam,
the river of pedestrians
collapsing reforming in rhythm with lights,
the shape of city streets.
Spring leaves on handlebar branches,
seasonal flags of the possible
unfurling, green, strong, holding
firm as necessity,
inspirited as prayer on a wire:
wind-aided beseech
into the possibility of all things.
******
we know,
we say to the wind, but we will
come back again and back:
in debris we make a holding as
insubstantial and permanent as mirage. Persistences A. R. Ammons
That Thing With Feathers
15 Friday May 2026
Posted in poems
Poetry on the run 