for Marius and Bobbie Kociejowski

I

For the seven minutes it will take, at most,
To slant these figures over their borderlines,
Surprise yourself: Be the lanky waiter
Waving his tray in Canakkale.
                              Along the Promenade
People dawdle, arm in arm. He feels a cooling,
Feels in the air a cooling, and he knows -
A multitude of Greeks, Armenians, and Jews,
How they felt it ninety years ago.


II

Soon after eight, at last the sun hangs low.
Somebody signs to him: collapse the parasols.
Under each canopy he takes a stand, reaches up
And puts a thumb against the latch.
A cascade of soft materials is whispering
All around him. Afro song
...