To O'Hara

Sitting near a Grand Central

Station stairway on the floor I stare 

At all the passing people dressed

In hurry Rushing from this place

To that place of worry while those

Next to me snap pictures trying

To catch process in static

A souvenir of the city's constancy

Always people moving, a weave

A right, a left, all a tapestry A picture

Of the stars mapped over time It all blurs

One person, one long trajectory

Sitting still I feel still as a boulder

In a river I will corrode, erode over time

I would But my legs prevent this My job

My life I am a wife to it Married, joined,

A shadow. Only against this wall

Do we rest together and it is poetry

Just an idea I have And then it is there 

Coincidence, who believes in it?

I think about you and you are there I don't

Think about you and there you are 

Answering a question I had only 

Just thought of An answer you had

Only just found As you weaved

Through the hurried crowd.