Adoration of Shepherds

Ernie Hilbert

After days locked from light in drifting fever,
I woke to learn that Gregory Corso had died,
Gone away with his granite boatmen and bombs,
And I sat up looking at the lights of Manhattan over

The East River all night, thinking about the
Years, how they leap past and leave nothing.
I took a train from New York, went south to Hatteras Island,
Sat up nights reading Spender, dozing off

To surging Wagner preludes and sad old recordings
Of Horowitz playing Scarlatti through dust to angels and sky.
I once knew a young editor, drank pints of beer with
Him at Rudy’s in Hell’s Kitchen, who had been thrown

Out of Jurassic Park after he and Corso snuck in
The side doors. The manager told him: "sober your
Grandfather up." O, to play forever in those fields,
Those cities, our Elysium. Charon knows his name

Remains fierce and bright as he draws near us all.
I reached into my pocket and dropped a quarter into the canal
Below, under the enormous arching stars, with no
Golden bough or sleep, only the sibyl’s enigma to keep me.

I stood on the starlit roof watching out over the hard dark
Miles of the sound, back toward the imperceptible
Forested mainland, waiting for a trace as the bargeman
Poled listlessly out into slow winds and calm.

c.2001