Carlita, traveling in these tunnels Beneath the behemoth city I think Of the simplicity of those summers

Where in the magnolia shade you Constantly hummed these tunes heard First, by your granite faced ancestor in

Those hills filled with rhododendron Hells. Carlita, how did I come upon You, under which overturned rock

Did I find you, Carlita, Carlita? The birds here are all strange even If they are called by familiar names,

And I am a costumed stranger playing Fiddle tunes for bits they fling into my Upturned hat. The heart, what can I say

Of the heart, Carlita? That it is an empty Hat which always stays bare, bereft of any Emotion, going through deadened motions?

Carlita, your name is the only tune my bow Draws from strings, your name is the groan Of steel wheels on steel rails. Carlita, you Are the ache whose rumble keeps me awake, A ghost living in this endless subway dark.

Thoughts of New York City, interlaced with thoughts of Appalachian hikes and fiddle tunes.