Better Than Starbucks!

*

 

Empty and the sand

follows you along Broadway

as if some dampness

was left for shoreline

moves the IRT up

then down the way clammers

use their feet to rake

— you walk on tracks

careful not to miss

while the train underneath

breaks open its doors

all at once — no, you don’t jump

nothing like that

— these shells are the same

the mad feel for

though their sweat takes the place

water grieves into

and their mouths are the same

let you yell down

and not a mark inside your body

to call you by.

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*

 

Leaning against the wall

it becomes a death bed

the way a name on paper

flattens out to take hold

for which there is no word

only a room where no one noticed

you didn’t ask for help

so close to the corners

with the light still on.

 

 

*

 

You fold this sweater the way a moth

builds halls from the darkness it needs

to go on living — safe inside this closet

a family is gathering for dinner, cashmere

with oil, some garlic, a little salt, lit

and wings warmed by mealtime stories

about flying at night into small fires

grazing on the somewhere that became

the out-of-tune hum older than falling

— you close the drawer and slowly

your eyes shut — with both hands

make a sign in the air as if death matters.

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