Poetry

Summer was flooding the city highways
bathing sycamores below the savage tenements,
[…]

Boulevard Lannes what are you doing so far out in space
With your garbage carts pulled by draught horses plodding
    one behind another…

Here where the dark-sourced stream brims up,
Reflecting daylight, making sound
In its stepped fall from cup to cup

I spring joy out of my rib cage
Like a flash of pigeons flying North
South here in Mississippi, Florida

Out of a patch of fog, or the branches
of a broken tree, or as a light
suddenly aglow on the ceiling—
they assemble themselves, and briefly appear.