Lake Como

    The searchlight of a February moon

    at the end of the street

    bare trees black railing

    an eastern star set like a pearl atop a steeple

    that shadows the doorway

    where the one-armed card shark squats

    shuffling his deck on a milk crate

    waiting for the No. 6 bus to discharge

    the off-duty cop the seamstress

    the drunken mechanic and the clerk on crutches

    who pauses before his building to watch

    the mechanic lose three dollars at blackjack

    and then stiffly ascends the five flights

    to his two rooms on a shaftway

    hanging his coat on a hook

    and sitting down at the table

    on which this morning he placed

    a soup bowl and spoon

    a tin of crackers and the crossword

    puzzle he had been laboring over

    beneath the gaze of his late wife

    her color photograph propped up in a small frame

    a young woman in a boxy dress and felt cap

    waving shyly by the edge of a lake

    where over her shoulder beneath a clear sky

    a sailboat rides the wind

    passengers on the polished deck

    gazing at the glowing mountain peaks

    the cypresses lining the shore

    and the pink palazzi with ancient gardens

    these men and women in white

    who seem to live upon the water

    gliding among themselves oblivious to strife

    and all else that wears a body down

    some sipping from crystal goblets

    others just drinking in the light