It is the sleep time and they rest.
The triangle banks and drug stores rest.
The policeman is gone, his star and gun sleep.
The owl car blutters along in a sleep-walk.
CLEAN CURTAINS
New neighbors came to the corner house at Congress and Green streets.
The look of their clean white curtains was the same as the rim of a nun’s bonnet.
One way was an oyster pail factory, one way they made candy, one way paper boxes, strawboard cartons.
The warehouse trucks shook the dust of the ways loose and the wheels whirled dust—there was dust of hoof and wagon wheel and rubber tire—dust of police
and fire wagons—dust of the winds that circled at midnights and noon listening to no prayers.