Tribeca Walk
Originally posted 03.13.2006
Heels clack on pavement wet with runoff,
flowing fresh under a
chain-link fence.
How can there be melt-water where there
wasn’t any snow?
All the histories of April
hang by a thread, the weight
in my chest a pendulum
barely swinging.
Gentle rocks, the traffic flows
without malice,
a lullaby of city sound.
