_89. Tramcar, Budapest

A man steps onto the crowded car with,
on his gloved and alarming hand,
an unhooded falcon, and as my mind drifts
to gyres and loss I realize
I am not held fast to the earth
and could tsay on this tram
to its terminus, get out and
keep walking, I could never return
or speak again to a single body I’ve met
before. I am neither the mold
nor the hot iron nor the lost falcon
but just as unbeholden to the earth.
It is a joyous but dizzying thing
to be an active soul
and all I’ve ever sought is certainty.
So I collect the rays reflected
from the arrangement of sunlight
and mortar covering the facade
of a bomed-out old building
we are passing and try to hold them
with me as a talisman against
the world’s wind-change. I meet
the severe, crystal eyes
of the falcon in front of whom
I am transparent and hold
to the steadiness of buildings,
the rock fastened
by hand to the earth.