Anne Pierson Wiese Poems

There was the famous photographer, Walker Evans,
who started by photographing old signs and ended
by filling his bathtub with them and washing
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Down at the end of Baxter Street, where Five Points
slum used to be, just north of Tombs, is a pocket park.
On these summer days the green plane trees' leaves
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In the Brooklyn Botanic Garden the night
heron is on his branch of his tree, blue
moon curve of his body riding low
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St. Nicholas Park in Harlem is one of few spots
on the island of Manhattan where you can stand
on terraces of rock untouched since men
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The twist of the stream was inscrutable.
It was a seemingly run-of-the-mill
stream that flowed for several miles by the side
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In the morning on my way to the subway
I pass disemboweled trash bags
at the curb, in front of the big building
down the block. You can tell how people dug things out
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There are many people who spend their nights
on the subway trains. Often one encounters
them on the morning commute, settled in corners,
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The First warm evening in spring—the evening
on which you no longer feel the air's
temperature and are only aware
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In Europe you can see cathedrals
from far away. As you drive toward them
across the country they are visible—stony
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