IN A MOMENT

In a moment
you are lost in the fog
or saved by the light rain
which you drink
from the large basin
by the ancient fountain
in the deer park
here in October
feeding the animals
in a secret tongued language
as some will go underground
like Beat poets
and political prisoners
not heard from until the spring
and here on a wooden bench
made of oak putting
my library card
in a Proust's volume
speaking of the Vanteuil sonata
for violin
as the last shovel
gathers the reddish leaves
in the winds smoke in,
suddenly meeting a friend
from the  classroom past
sensing her own loneliness
as she clutches her Matisse poster
from the Metropolitan
on her brown tweed shoulder
asking me out for a drink
squeezes my neck brace
now hurting in seconds
once scarred
during a marathon run.