Forgive us if the lumber porches and doorsteps
Snarl at each other —
And the brick chimneys cough in a close-up of
Each other's faces —
And the ramshackle stairways watch each other
As thieves watch —
And dooryard lilacs near a malleable iron works
Long ago languished
In a short whispering purple.

And if the alley ash cans
Tell the garbage wagon drivers
The children play the alley is Heaven
And the streets of Heaven shine
With a grand dazzle of stones of gold
And there are no policemen in Heaven —
Let the rag-tags have it their way.

And if the geraniums
In the tin cans of the window sills
Ask questions not worth answering —
And if a boy and a girl hunt the sun
With a sieve for sifting smoke —
Let it pass — let the answer be —
"Dust and a bitter wind shall come."

Forgive us if the jazz timebeats
Of these clumsy mass shadows
Moan in saxophone undertones.