#512. three eves before

December 22, 2011

eyes below the river path
between the detritus sculptures
catching fire on the narrow ledge there
the low murmured song of homeless seekers
after shelter after finding a way to occupy december
night tonight and all the nights through holy breath and death
all is unknown except this broken glass ornament

#495. afternoon ache

December 5, 2011

came down 
today crowds
hustled and sighed
under shelter wrapped
tight shivering peering
puzzling over the homeless
woman turning beaming sunshine
she walks dry within the winter rain

#291. east river walk

June 12, 2010

passing by the soft river
grabs my senses
suspends time
breaks my
less man
wimpers in
time with the wild
waves sweeping the path

in the soft
cold evening of ghostly
new york
all the citizens and characters
bump and tumble
into each other
down subways and out
store doors
feeling their
joyous anxious way
they slip into the holy
anonymity of treasures
and pain that they find at home
or on the streets.
in the morning the ghosts are gone again.

brooklyn bridge buddha
subway tunnel saint
homeless haunter
tattered teacher
martyred mother
sad and alone
laying your blessed head
on the cold tiles
night after night
greeting me mornings
with your indifference
piles of food water bottles
change bills clothes mats pillows
empty jars torn books
all the offerings
of passersby
averting eyes at peeing squatting
picking privates
we know no matter our hope
that we are you
you are the Endless
as we are
and I wonder
where you
meditate now

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