The Public Garden

For the Union Dead (1964)

Burnished, burned-out, still burning as the yearyou lead me to our stamping ground.The city and its cruising cars surroundThe Public Garden1. All’s alive -the children crowding home from school at five,punting a football in the bricky2 air,the sailors and their pick-ups under treeswith latin labels. And the jaded flockof swanboats paddles to its dock.The park is drying.Dead leaves thicken to a ballinside the basin of a fountain, wherethe heads of four stone lions stareand suck on empty faucets. Nightdeepens. From the arched bridge, we seethe shedding park-bound mallards, how they keepcircling and diving in the lanternlight,searching for something hidden in the muck.And now the moon, earth’s friend, that cared so muchfor us, and cared so little, comes again -always a stranger! As we walk,it lies like chalkover the waters. Everything’s aground.Remember summer? Bubbles filledthe fountain, and we splashed. We drownedin Eden, while Jehovah’s grass-green lyrewas rustling all about us in the leavesthat gurgled by us, turning upside down…The fountain’s failing waters flash aroundthe garden. Nothing catches fire.

(For the Union Dead, 1964)

1The Boston Public Garden, established in 1837, is supposed to be the first public botanical garden in the United States. Today, with its plant material chosen for ornamental excellence as well as its botanical diversity, it forms a green and flowering oasis in the heart of a great metropolis.

2Brick-like.