At this Angle of the Sun

Oh, to capture this, a bit of this --
a whiff, the slightest savor -- every
day to see through this precisely
flavored angle of the sun when I sit here --
today it's six -- with evening almost
palpitant but still too far away: it still

is day -- the light becomes so round
and inner that the shadows make a dinner
of it: as it fades chiaroscuro grows,
enfolds and swallows more dimensions
of the visible until you think, of course,
there have to be far more than three:

it's best exactly as it's glowing now:
the barest tinge of yellow in the egg-
white sky -- harboring the thick and lacy
cool clean misty green -- a shifting solar
sheen dispersing a July humidity:
the fragile shading of each tree,

and somehow -- always -- this inveterately
sailing and prevailing New York City
sense of place and air which makes it
quite impossible to think of being
anywhere but here, exactly at this angle
of the sun, each day of every year.


.