Harvey Shapiro (1924 - present)

Through the boroughs

I hear the music from the street
every night. Sequestered at my desk,
my luminous hand finding the dark words.
Hard, very hard. And the music
from car radios is so effortless.
And so I strive to join my music
to that music. So that
the air will carry my voice down
the block, across the bridge,
through the boroughs where people I love
can hear my voice, saying to them
through the music that their lives
are speaking to them now, as mine to me.


Desk

After my death, my desk,
which is now so cluttered,
will be bare wood, simple and shining,
as I wanted it to be in my life,
as I wanted my life to be.