Morning Touched

This morning Walt Whitman
walked past me
Ed Poe sat next to me with a coffee
Emmy Dickinson watched
TV with me in amazement
in detachment
Hart Crane waved to me
from a boat as I hung over a bridge,
Waldo Emerson sat meditating,
pen in hand. Bill Williams was
looking out the window
everything dripping wet
as I passed.
Hank Thoreau rested in
the fog of a huge wetland.
Wally Stevens, notebook under arm
sad eyes, moved under the cloudy brightness.
H.D. and Gertrude walked
toward me from the railing
of the departing ship,
Langston Hughes sang weeping.
This morning Walt Whitman
walked past me.