Poetry Walks

An Airplane Whistle (After Heine)


The rose, the lily and the dove got withered
in you sunlight or in the soot, maybe of New York
and ceased to be lovable as odd sounds are lovable
say blowing on a little airplane's slot
which is the color of the back of your knee
a particular sound, fine, light and slightly hoarse

- Frank O'Hara (1926-1966)
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