Paterson

Outside

outside myself

there is a world,

he rumbled, subject to my incursions

—a world

(to me) at rest,

which I approach

concretely—

The scene’s the Park

upon the rock,

female to the city

—upon whose body Paterson instructs his thoughts

(concretely)

—late spring,

a Sunday afternoon!

—and goes by the footpath to the cliff (counting:

the proof)
44

himself among the others,

—treads there the same stones

on which their feet slip as they climb,

paced by their dogs!