I
saw an angel in the Palisades today Through the gates of
the GWB, and its twin towers, beneath its vaulted archway, I sailed. Lifted
by the strong south wind; sails bent, wing on wing I flew. Harlem's
waters flow from Hells Gate here, melt and mix with the Hudson's, turning. Then
I saw the angel standing on a ledge in the cliffs. Not standing, dancing dervish
and twirling an angel of sunlight and mist. Was it only a ray of light
bent by the wind? Opposite, Yonkers a row of ships at dock: The Wisdom
Line! Wisdom?
Where is wisdom to be found?
Another ship steams
south green tug with barge. Those in the wheel house flying flags whirling
radar steering for worlds I know not of.
Above,
the helicopter's staccato twirling and spinning blades of steel. And
the trains, those silver snakes, deep rumbling diesels. These are seen
and heard no doubt. But the angel was dancing on a ledge in the cliffs. And
these old stones I am told were carved by ice in an age not ours; this
cathedral formed by a hand not our own. Cliffs and spires parapets
and towers leaves of November, gleaming in the light in the sun in
the haze,
incense, smoke and fire,
fire on the water, tongues of fire, silver
fire, a Pentecost of fall. The Tapan Zee is wide but narrow is the
gate that leads to the kingdom of the light. |