by David Lehman
Cynthia was feeling sinful in Cincinnati.
She had changed her name once, which was a pity.
She was looking for a new name,
But not necessarily a new flame.
Was there a sir to sin with?
The evening was a blur to begin with.
Came the first day of spring, and in the trees
Birds sang, enacting one of life's mysteries.
The wind played, and the clouds wandered like the lonely poet
In Wordsworth's poem. Did she know it?
What was the meaning of her laughter?
That depends on if you're a son or a daughter.
As the river south of the city flows,
Cynthia reads the poems that name her, and glows.