Façades

Look, just look, at the façades of houses, Grey, brown, weatherbeaten, argus eyed, Less tall than silent, distinguished than old, Commanding the street, remanded by an eye. Like implications rigorous stairs wind, Decline, incline, some even plainly lead To privacy: a cut glass chandelier Hives, perhaps too dignifiedly, reservations,

Or a naked bulb irradiates fear Of masked tensions to a gas jet unfed. Habitations also need men Exhaling their absence as underground Rivers in ancient time were thought mouths of hell. Into them too an Orpheus absorbed in love Of some past phase can as freely disappear.

The door locks behind him and his rare Appearances deceive, for he always looks back. Angels on crystal paperweights, devils in wastebaskets, We over carpets taking care to tread How? As we are certain is decorous For the particular house. Interiors Of houses, façades of houses: pause and blast Of one trumpet, for where do streets lead Finally but back to the same houses?