Late Air

From a magician's midnight sleeve

the radio-singers

distribute all their love-songs

over the dew-wet lawns.

And like a fortune-teller's

their marrow-piercing guesses are whatever you believe.

But on the Navy Yard aerial I find

better witnesses

for love on summer nights.

Five remote red lights

keep their nests there; Phoenixes

burning quietly, where the dew cannot climb.