JUST BECAUSE JUST BECAUSE
The day so young
it rivers with mercy.
Each body mostly water
in a world mostly water
but physics only make me
Look at the sun
skim across the eyes.
even logic’s innocent.
Then why—then why?
Some leak or fibrillation
of my heart replies,
amid a twitchy phosphorescence
whilst squeaky shopping carts turtle down the aisles,
“if only fools were drunk with wishes.”
The landscaper trespasses to the river
gushing brimful of wanderlust and lady
slippers, great alphabet, goosepimpled
with a million golden bees, as daylight’s
dizzy sting keeps dazzling the naked eye:
from crown to soles, flaunt overflowing
round each glitch, the heart’s ski lifted
up a steep, a-dangle in the glitter over clastic
rock and vatic air, before it’s gentled down
a bank; meanwhile inside, his quick caged motor-
cycle gyroscopes as if he’d just been given
tenure. Afterward, a volunteer, he’d tottle
back to wavy shelves or some faux waterfall
to craft dry temporary tracks through pebbles,
twist bonsai into stunted runts and palps,
raking level mulch chips over little bird skulls
into vegetative fables, sheering and tweaking
moss, or, garroting in hand another cranky
leaf-blower, give one good tug to whoosh
dead mush into new monuments of gold
amid a smoother hobble of the earth, that
fund he trusts he could not but inherit.
The sidewalks gridlock with their litter’s drift.
Like oil slicks, the sunlight shocks and riddles
to crevice glare down every street; gray sky’s
bloodshot. Over blank brick roofs, one flock
zigzags. Flak of scattered pigeons hang on fire
escapes. All Brooklyn’s mesmerized and blown
down turns of stale obstructed zones, a range
of snaggletooth cranes. Beyond a broken half-
hearted barrier: a muddy ditch, planks, links
of pipe. Gulls pick bedraggled feathers, skip
or shuffle; loose news-leaf hustles by—daily papers
ruffle a city’s schmutz, a pressed off smudge of ink.