The Hangar

THREE POEMS

THE HANGAR

Above the marsh, a hollow monument,

Ribbed with aluminum, enormous tent

Sheeted with silver, set to face the gale

Of the steady trade that swelled the clipper sail,

The hangar stands. With doors now buckled close

Against the summer wind, the empty house

Reserves a space shaped to the foundered dream.

The Macon, lost, moves with the ocean stream.

Level the marshes, far and low the hills.

The useless structure, firm on the ample sills,

Rises incredible to state again:

Thus massive was the vessel, built in vain.

For this one purpose the long sides were planned

To lines like those of downward pouring sand,

Time-sifting sand; but Time immobile, stayed,

In substance bound, in these bright walls delayed.

This housed the shape that plunged through stormy air.

Empty cocoon! Yet was the vision fair

That like a firm bright cloud moved from the arch,

Leaving this roof to try a heavenly march;

Impermanent, impractical, designed

Janet Lewis

To frame a paradox and strongly bind

The weight, the weightless, in a living shape

To cruise the sky and round the cloudy Cape.

Less substance than a mathematic dream

Locked in the hollow keel and webbéd beam!

Of the ingenious mind, the expensive pride,

The highest hope, the last invention tried!

And now the silver tent alone remains,

Slowly the memory of disaster wanes.

Still in the summer sun the bastions burn

Until the inordinate dream again return.