The Poem I had the sound in my head, the wind stirring trees beyond the fence and grasses kneeling on their knees, sliding across brown stones, the poem. Perhaps it was the ocean that came behind me, because I was there, with the sound of fragrance of peonies and daylilies in autumn light, the way it sways, flows, as the poem falls around, slipping through each hand’s grasp.

— Frank O’Hara

• Frank OHara