-The horizon-

Beyond the two green-

Primed leviathan water tanks

Rising to the east

At the summit of road's end

Leading to the sloping

Banks at the horizon,

The great fresh-water

Ponds of the Narrows

Split the sweeping

Watuppa Reservation

Of the fading Wampanoag.

But the road downtown

Departs westward

Toward the bridge, a muscular

Continuous through-truss beauty

Spanning the craggy banks

Of the Taunton River.

I'm below the fresh-water ponds

But above the running river

With not much recognized now

Of what was commonplace,

The stage of the hill

From where my friends were born

And with me, raised.

We knew the Narrows 

And the sweeping Watuppa

As few others knew it;

From the saddles and the pedals

Of our gleaming,

Indelible bicycles.

We knew the water around us,—

The river, the ponds, the red-

Tinctured fresh-water lakes of algae and metals,

The stiff-weeded

Inlets calmly resting at the foot
Of the sweltering textile mills,—

The salted ocean, the running water

Of two tenement rooms reserved for running water,

The frantic interiors, our revolving planets,— the crazy

Caricatures of the active inhabitants

And there isn’t a convincing explanation of this

Nor one required to forward to anyone.

                                           Quequechan