Whistles, pennants and smoke are blowing. The ships
are
signaling cordially with multitudes of flags
rising and falling like birds all over the
harbor.
Enter: two rivers, gracefully bearing
countless little pellucid
jellies
in cut-glass epergnes dragging with silver chains.
The flight is safe;
the weather is all arranged.
The waves are running in verses this fine morning.
Please come flying.

Come with the pointed toe of each black shoe
trailing a sapphire highlight,
with a black capeful of butterfly wings and
bon-mots,
with heaven knows how many angels all riding
on the broad black brim
of your hat,
please come flying.

Bearing a musical inaudible
abacus,
a slight censorious frown, and blue ribbons,
please come flying.
Facts and skyscrapers glint in the tide; Manhattan
is all awash with morals this
fine morning,
so please come flying.

Mounting the sky with natural
heroism,
above the accidents, above the malignant movies,
the taxicabs and
injustices at large,
while horns are resounding in your beautiful ears
that
simultaneously listen to
a soft uninvented music, fit for the musk deer,
please
come flying.

For whom the grim museums will behave
like courteous
male bower-birds,
for whom the agreeable lions lie in wait
on the steps of the
Public Library,
eager to rise and follow through the doors
up into the reading
rooms,
please come flying.
We can sit down and weep; we can go shopping,
or play at a game of constantly being wrong
with a priceless set of
vocabularies,
or we can bravely deplore, but please
please come flying.

With dynasties of negative constructions
darkening and dying around
you,
with grammar that suddenly turns and shines
like flocks of sandpipers
flying,
please come flying.

Come like a light in the white mackerel
sky,
come like a daytime comet
with a long unnebulous train of words,
from Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning,
please come
flying.