Observations on the Summer Solstice Wilson Taylor I read of Prometheus, fire-stealer, Charmer of the hearts of mankind, In the kaleidoscope of Central Park And reflect in the newborn heat At prices paid for stealing from the gods; Yet I enjoy the purchased fruits The luxury of idle thoughts That quicken as great gears turn on— Shutting my book, I have nowhere to be And cross the second-oldest cast-iron Bridge in America into a place In imitation of something older; This is the closest a city may be To its pastoral beginnings— The best we may manufacture The environs that keep us whole. Now, hours later, I meditate, slow and Steady into the belly of The Beast. The conscious pleasures of the mind, Swimming deep in bucolic reflection, Lead only in circles to a certain Ambiguity in which animals Solely may rest—humanity belongs To balance between choice and universe.
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