Or never leave home again. Yet the voyage begins again.
Sprung from the deep
That fate, flat on the water like a raft,
My island, my isolate, waits.
Then carrying lanterns, single as lighthouse men,
Lighthouse turned darkhouse, quiet turned quay, men turned
shadow
In silence usher us through.
o
never again will I come this way
I said. This way, never again.
No more! No more!
I thought: I have been here before.
FLUSHING MEADOWS, 1939
Lenore Marshall
Lightning! Lightning! Lightning! Without thunder!
A zaggedy white trombone of lightshot, crackling
Between metallic globules, egglike, hugely
Aching in the corner of our eyes,-
The afterburn of electrocuted air
Sizzled into our ears and nostrils, halfblinded
Us. We reeled into the dim sunshine
Groping a little, holding hands, still hearing
The confident vibrant voice of the sound system–
"Harnessed . . . power . . . unnumbered benefits . . "
And this we pondered down the bedecked Concourse
Of Nations. A gold-robed King of Poland brandished
Crossed swords on horseback pedestaled on high;
The Soviet Citizen bore his sanguine star
Almost as high as that American flag
That snaffled in the smart wind perched atop
The Amusement Park's live parachute drop.
