I’m climbing again…to The Cloisters…where often I’ve dropped down from The Cloisters…wishing to enter the heart of a park…A boy rides his sister’s dirtbike mags…clutches onto her shoulders…A wall with painted clown and slot through which you stick your face…People are supposed to throw things
Now I’m really entering a park…This chihuahua-doberman mix with studded collar…this chihuahua-sized/doberman-faced dog barks at each pedestrian but me….passing a ring of police barricades…tied with yellow Caution tape…beside holes and rusted pipes breaking a board…These holes lay there two years ago…People…the mom and three kids…place their blanket against an incline…How nice to lie on grass at an angle…A tied Jack Russell stares at them…short ears taut
Because I’m climbing…losing breath…I feel encircled by ridged dry hills…occasional flashing tulip shoots…The sky seems to rotate a bit…as from Earth’s spinning…Tall tunnels provide great views on the city…No the Hudson and New Jersey…while bronze towers begin northeast…That’s definitely the Bronx…A gazebo…arches…I’ve reached The Cloisters…Once I’d walked this path with shoe soles split…skimming cobblestones
Rustling squirrels plunge through leaves…stop to scratch an ear while grackles scavenge…Wispy pink branches frame the first dog run I’ll pass…pitched steep…good for the quads…A bloodhound flips an inflatable gourd…Women or boys haul a cart of white clothes to The Cloisters