Sit, if only for a moment. 
Rest your whisper of a body 
upon this bench. Listen: 

the bullfrog croak, low 
and morose. The red tram 
floats through blue. 

Bicycles whir and click. Wild 
rosemary rises from sidewalk 
cracks. The ferry wakes 

you out of dusk 
slumber. The young maple 
stirs in evening breeze. 

Across the East River, 
sirens cluster underneath 
a burning high-rise

like a thicket of bleeding 
currants. As water drowns 
sky, fishermen gather, 

slice up heads of haddock, 
cast away their lines. 
They dredge up poison.

A whole lifetime 
dissolved into ghost 
gray smoke. The pine

wood stand-up piano, 
the Pre-K palm painted 
portrait. The city 

yawns. You observe, 
distant, the passing-
by shadow of 

flying geese.