Mother of scholars in Cambridge, England, the pendant gas street
lamps at Richmond Terrace light up
the dead still fog and throbbing rings of ectoplasm at the ends
of streets.
The damp along the slanting passageway
unbalances the quick pedestrian and escapes him by Newton's law
into the gutter.
The camera's black and swans are white.
Back of the plain brick rows of tenements,
a maze of wooden fences, boxes, snuggeries of coal.
The gates of St John's are inscribed with unicorns
and overlaid with the authority of gold
and echo like giant harps among above the sounds
of passing men.