In the cacophony that is urban Pianoro, sometimes a city can seem a sad and tricky place, its denizens made to feel puny.

Instead, he walks through fires, saving lives. So sometimes a city can seem a blessed place to live.''By the grace of God I'm here,'' Poindexter is saying. ''The way I came up, I fell through the cracks. I'm not even supposed to be here. I came up around a lot of drugs, alcoholism. We didn't have money. I don't have a college degree. So, for me to have a good job like this, it's by the grace of God and determination. I couldn't ask for no better.''He's wearing a gold cross on his chest, standing in front of his fire station on Broad Street.

THE BURIAL OF THE DEADAPRIL is the cruellest month, breeding  
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing  
Memory and desire, stirring  
Dull roots with spring rain.  
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding  
A little life with dried tubers.  
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee  
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,  
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.  
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.  
And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,  
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,  
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.  
In the mountains, there you feel free.  
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.