Now that April's Here

Coming up to the boulevard stop on the slant,
The poplars standing off along,
The white proceeding and as white crossed,
One would have to look a west sun in the eye.

Picking up after La Cienega the long quiet,
The porch lights flying, still as they are.
The cars staying along the curb north and south quiet,
One would have to go straight chin deep in light on the level
tracts.

Stopping for ice, bouncing in short against the red paint,
The store building facing up like a bastille,
One would have to get breath to look off down the street,
Down the low roofs, races of pavement, meadows of evening.

And so I would if there I were, there I would take
One into another the long flat avenues of the angels,
Lower than the west light, the luminous levels,
There through the shiny shallows remember that one dimension.