Final Night, in Allston
And trees unrooted left their place
- John Dryden
Let this line be the arrow
returning us both
to that time on Commonwealth
when we drank placebos,
dreamt of Vermont farms
and talked about operas
I knew nothing of. You gave arias
special resonance and form,
explained with great passion
theories of the spheres.
Consider this: I even seemed to hear
celestial humming risen
above the buzz of other barflies
and the cherrywood facade.
We needed one more cider for the road
to hide from what we realized.