Thinking of rain clouds that rose over the city on the first day of the year
in the same month I consider that I have lived daily and with
eyes open and ears to hear these years across from St Vincent's Hospital above whose roof those clouds rose
its bricks by day a French red under cross facing south blown-up neo-classic facades the tall dark openings between columns at the dawn of. history exploded into many windows in a mortised face
inside it the ambulances have unloaded after sirens' howling nearer through traffic on Seventh Avenue long ago I learned not to hear them even when the sirens stop
they turn to back in few passers-by stay to look and neither do I
at night two long blue windows and one short one on the top floor burn all night many nights when most of the others are out on what floor do they have anything
I have seen the building drift moonlit through geraniums late at night when trucks were few moon just past the full upper windows parts of the sky as long as I looked I watched it at Christmas and New Year early in the morning I have seen the nurses ray out through arterial streets in the evening have noticed internes blocks away on doorsteps one foot in the door
I have come upon the men in gloves taking out the garbage at all hours plastic bags white strata with green intermingled and black I have seen one pile catch fire and studied the cloud at the ends of the jets of the hoses the fire engines as near as that red beacons and machine-throb heard by the whole body I have noticed molded containers stacked outside a delivery entrance on Twelfth Street whether meals from a meal factory made up with those mummified for long journeys by plane or specimens for laboratory examination sealed at the prescribed temperatures either way closed delivery
and approached faces staring from above crutches or tubular clamps out for tentative walks have paused for turtling wheel-chairs heard visitors talking in wind on each corner while the lights changed and hot dogs were handed over at the curb in the middle of afternoon mustard ketchup onions and relish and police smelling of ether and laundry were going back
and I have known them all less than the papers of our days smoke rises from the chimneys do they have an incinerator what for how warm do they believe they have to maintain the air in there several of the windows appear to be made of tin but it may be the light reflected
I have imagined bees coming and going on those sills though I have never seen them
