mother daughter poem

often i think of the beautiful town
i see all human wits
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
shadows lay along broadway
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
tell me
and how could you dream of meeting
it was a tall young oysterman
in new york harbor
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
i saw the clouds among the hills
above them all, looking down
over the river, on the hill
gloom