NIGHT AIR

in the air, evaporate.

Only the night air carries your words

up to the dead (the ancients wrote):

I watched them rise, become remote.

Rapidly, yet without any sense of hurry, information about three people is conveyed in passing: not only profession (in the third line) , sexual orientation and educational level but also subtler matters of personality and humor.

"In passing" -- well, not exactly: In a work of art, it may be that every moment is part of the destination. The end-rhyming of the second and third lines of each stanza and the banter of patient and doctor are part of the rich, ambiguous conclusion, where the intimacy of a spoken name rises toward the dead in the night air. The "foolish," solicitous and respectful question the doctor asks the patient becomes part of the implicit question of the final lines: In relation to the particular dead people in anyone's life, or in relation to mortality itself, have art and intimacy eased the pain?

(C. Dale Young's poem "Night Air" can be found in his new book, "The Second Person." Four Way Books. Copyright 2007 by C. Dale Young.)

Robert Pinsky's most recent book of poetry is "Jersey Rain."