Walter Lowenfels

It is enough that the night is full of rain and chimes and angels like a Spanish cathedral with the street an an escala d'oro the stars descend. Forgive the word O Builder the poem was between the rain and the chimes not in the word but in the angels. Yours O Apollinaire was an act. Your name has the sound of a statue or a temple the eyes have not seen. The columns of Balbeek crumble architecture remains like a dream of the world. Building is a vista or a vision a spirit that inhabits stone or air the persistent soul of objects making any everything a womb of possibilities. And green is green ! And cream is cabbages and red are carrots. How lovlier than Miss Universe to live on vegetables and colour that make each truck lumbering through the rain a chariot of the Lord. Lamp posts are golden with the eyes ob God and Apol- lo drives the horses of the sun down the street to col- lect loud garbage. A thousand departures for the thousand poems in the mind and at Burgos

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