Page 306
By Jack Joseph Smith
Chandelier
In the Autumn of nineteen sixty three
I would be walking through
Old Town Chicago
In the late evening,
when the drapes were not drawn
Pulled rather way back,
right to the molding
of their threshold
great big natural glass,
stretched at their fronts
it was easy to see,
that short stoops
were a way into riches
Thuging under a new Moon
To theatrical to notice
Touched to
of their
their is
sills
I would enter
to my thought
They are stars
there
Billowed
of THEIR sills
Faulkner's
The shadow of
the sash,
came to mind
silence is not
dead