Though they lived for decades no more than a block
from each other in Greenwich Village – one
in Washington Square, the other Patchin Place –
there is no record they ever met,
Hopper the painter, Cummings the poet.
They would have thought that they had nothing
in common – the real, the lyrical.
But, hey, what do geniuses know?
They may have passed each other on some sidewalk,
on Sixth Avenue or Bleecker Street,
or in the subway on 9th,