Lake Como

　　by Nicholas Christopher

　　 The searchlight of a February moon

　　 at the end of the street

　　 bare trees black railing

　　 an eastern star set like a pearl atop a steeple

　　 that shadows the doorway

　　 where the one-armed card shark squats

　　 shuffling his deck on a milk crate

　　 waiting for the No. 6 bus to discharge

　　 the off-duty cop the seamstress

　　 the drunken mechanic and the clerk on crutches

　　 who pauses before his building to watch

　　 the mechanic lose three dollars at blackjack

　　 and then stiffly ascends the five flights

　　 to his two rooms on a shaftway

　　 hanging his coat on a hook

　　 and sitting down at the table

　　 on which this morning he placed

　　 a soup bowl and spoon

　　 a tin of crackers and the crossword

　　 puzzle he had been laboring over

　　 beneath the gaze of his late wife

　　 her color photograph propped up in a small frame

　　 a young woman in a boxy dress and felt cap

　　 waving shyly by the edge of a lake

　　 where over her shoulder beneath a clear sky

　　 a sailboat rides the wind

　　 passengers on the polished deck

　　 gazing at the glowing mountain peaks

　　 the cypresses lining the shore

　　 and the pink palazzi with ancient gardens

　　 these men and women in white

　　 who seem to live upon the water

　　 gliding among themselves oblivious to strife

　　 and all else that wears a body down

　　 some sipping from crystal goblets

　　 others just drinking in the light

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