The sun like a dear trail—bit my brow, Industriously, as my wife and I took the train Back to O'Hare, from downtown Chicago, — Windy city, with stretched-up eyebrows In its winter sleep. We walked around, downtown: busy city— From Washington Street to Michigan; across The bridge, there on East Ontario, we Ate at 'Bice,' Italian Restaurant (my wife Paid the bill) her treat, Valentine's Day.

I'm waiting for the plane now, it's 5:00 PM; It has been one of those happier days, moments, In my life: strange, even with Northwest being lat It is pale, to dark now (6:00 PM) Sitting on these warn out seats…! I've been thinking, like when you're a little boy, And spent the whole day rambling through the City, on your high, two wheel bike!... Whistling away the sunny day, With nothing much to do or say.

My wife, sitting next me fell to sleep, hat on: Holding my jacket in her two hands, sleeping, Had to remove her coffee cup, in case it fell: She's in some joyful lofty solitude; While I'm sniffling away like hell. It was nice, just being

ourselves today Before having to go back home, to St. Paul, Go back to the kitchen, and fixing things. As I look about, everyone's on cell phones. Hurry-up—flight: NW 145!

Now that I think of it, you could smell the lake The Great Lake Michigan; feel its pulse, its Winds like tides in the air all about. Softer dust, swirling along the cities streets; Street people blowing brass horns for a meal. Rhythmic packs, misplaced men and women Everywhere: like undergrowth, weeds not growing. Drunks, and derelicts, eyes staring at your every move, And endless forest of a city, with boulders, Towering bricks, next to an unforgiving lake:

Chicago!...

Semi prose/1/14/06 #1208

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