HENRY JAMES' NIGHT

Passed by Mount Vernon street
by Beacon Hill at dusk
ephemeral chrysanthemums
in a perfect night air
swept up by the darkness
the age exists as if it arranged
in patient red brick of harmony
yet late to a divided courtyard,
where you would witness
under dressed white curtains
the reluctance of pleasures
fears of inheritance
the minor pains and destinies
on days too serene for words
for this night too speechless
even for me to punctuate.