whittaker chambers rides at midnight a rustwhite rider alone
through the spun eye of heaven eclipsed by his own brainshadow or an unshaped memory which he has discovered swaggering through the clear october nightsky
this is not the planet i remember, says whittaker chambers,
he is surveying everything
he is a moonman he is looking down on earth it is sheet music to
him it is the curse of the babe it is the red sox winning it is
halloween it is the eve of the next election day
now now whittaker chambers whittaker chambers what do you see?
he sees zukofsky he sees hiss he sees oppen he sees rakosi he sees
newspapers and marching bands and presidents and communists and right wing conspiracy and left wing conspiracy
he sees the electronic poetry center at the university of buffalo
he sees a row of canvas tents he sees lynbrook he sees far rockaway
he sees munition factories he sees airplane hangars
he sees young boys he brought into the bushes after going for a swim
he sees tentflaps flapping he sees american angels they are flying in the face of the moon
he sees american flags he sees american sand he sees american sun
american cloud american smokestack american wind
there is sand in his eyes he sees every grain of sand
there is high school students graduating in the tall high grass
he sees every fifty yard line pigskin corkscrew poptart cheerleader marionette
and there! through the rooftop of cavanaugh's bar
where he frequently drank german beer in tall frothy glasses
he sees the corner where he wrote poetry in the slant of the
late afternoon sun
whittaker chambers, what do you see? he sees the sun go down
he sees the total eclipse of the moon
he sees the moon return he sees the beginning and the end of night
he sees jazz musicians who have packed up their instruments and
gone out to the parking lot to have a smoke together before
heading off to their homes and respective wives