-The little park-  

             1.

             The young girls skipped singing 
             Across the playground

             And the swings rusted chains sang an agonizing  

             Song behind them. 

             An active intersection linked 
             The chain of neighborhood

             And the scent of warm baked bread and Wind-  

             Song perfumes ran wild through the air.  

             Stone of the city,

             Its infinite dimensions,

             Where bundles of sweltering cloth are sewn

             From the walls of quarried granite

             And the fruit from the vineyards of labor
             Poured
             Like common wine into the vessels of 
             Living.

             2.

             Forward into the snow-blue nights

             We drove our sleds through the treacherous  

             Turns of Snake-Hill Drive—

             Its cold invitation weaving its stimulus 
             Into our breaths.

             And we'd drive the hill down;—   

             The hill branching right from the steepest  

             Of the Avenues.

                                                 Quequechan