Reply #14: Sept. poem

[Itascapark]

Early Morning Radio

What was it I dreamt last night?
Jazz carrier-waved from Jersey across

Two rivers to my hovel in Brooklyn?
My eyes open to the window, a seamless

Blue autumn sky canopies across Manhattan,
The radio tuned to some Coltrane number,

Traffic on the bridge, the subway’s rumble below, the
P.S. children stomping up 12th street, shop gates

Rising…the usual sounds of a Tuesday. And the
Firehouse was putting on its first pot of coffee, and

We thought this day in September would never end.