The water is freezing in straight lines across the ripples;
the ice is so thin the brown leaves
are seen moving along underneath;
the wheels of the automobiles hiss
on the wet pavement;
the bridge has become only a few lines in pencil
on the grey sky—
even lines made by rule and compass.

The street curves in and out, up and down
in great waves of asphalt;
at night the granite tomb is noisy with starlings;
like the creaking of many axles;
only the tired walker knows how much there is to climb,
how the sidewalk curves into the cold wind.

6)
Millinery District
The clouds, piled in rows like merchandise,
become dark; lights are lit in the lofts;
the milliners, tacking bright flowers on straw shapes,
say, glancing out of the windows,
It is going to snow;
and soon they hear the snow scratching the panes. By night
it is high on the sills.
The snow fills up the footprints
in the streets, the ruts of wagons and of motor trucks.
Except for the whir of the car
brushing the tracks clear of snow,
the streets are hushed.
At closing time, the girls breathe deeply
the clean air of the streets
sweet after the smell of merchandise.