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by George Held
4:45 PM, walking Job’s Lane, Southampton,
azure sky after two days of April rain,
temperature rising, spring finally springing,
and high above the redbudded maple tops
the silver three-quarter moon,
almost transparent, steals the scene
from The Driver’s Seat and the Parrish Museum
and the sidewalks crowded with window shoppers,
and I think of Frank O’Hara and Fairfield Porter
and the other stars of the cultural firmament
who also strolled this street, heads springing
ideas for poems or paintings
and for whom the late-afternoon moon
had to be just as corny an inspiration
as for me.
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