All these last four days of March I walked past the lighted church shivering in the unrelenting cold the wind bit my cheeks all up and down 9th avenue these last four days of Easter week
there is a knot at the center of me that holds all of the strings in my body
and then there is this rising in me that propels me through eighty blocks until 5 in the morning
until the sun ray glistens a golden sheen on the mirrored side walls of mighty towers in the city of those who never sleep
this morning in a morning voice I hurl my name into the silence
I will have this city in all of its honks chatter and chirps
All these last four days of March I tightened the knot but loosened the string all these last mornings in a morning voice in March I rose with my heart in my throat a line on my lips and a tingling in my feet