ONE POSSIBLE MEANING

This afternoon the park is filled with brides.

Among varieties of persuasion the big trees turn back toward the forest.

Adventurers gather in side streets.

The police are looking hard at the sky.

Down at the bay, boys trapped in solitude fish.

Girls hike their pants and stare at the wave line,

remembering secrets they once held dear.

The day offers a ridiculous variation as

an excuse for not coming in on time.

Wild imaginings take the place of religion.

Someone who can't swim offers to cook.

We've devised a means for the obstinate children

to be fed, she says, but no one understands this.

We crave affection, but give only advice.

There are walls topped with broken bicycles.

Someone makes an obscene offer and this

is the best we get all day. Oh don't give in

so easily she says, handing over the keys.

We climb the blue fire escape.

We would like to keep going,

skyline climbers, old men remembering their childhood

who devise a few illegal experiences no one wants to try.

It gets to be more than the officers can take.

The park is dusty, dark, yet the children,

ignored all day, play on, convinced their dedication

releases a magic that changes everything.