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Red Phalarope

Underground, under tons Of poured concrete (rusted iron Rods and wooden formmarks preserved Like pleistocene living, moving, at last Ended) miles of wires and Corridor-sized steam conduits, Under layered, tiered city Cubits, this unending business above, A subworker, conversing, says to me, ''Yesterday I chased a red Phalarope all the way Down Clearway Street.'' And I, too, come up from under To see a bird flying off Into infinite clear Space.