Freckling the sidewalks: puddles.
All a-bloom with oil, dirt and the reflections of flocks of birds --
Swarms of starlings winging around spires like maypoles.
At the ***** of the skyscraper’s spire: clouds.
Cradled into blueness by springtime, whispering away their last agonies of rain.
From their final cadence comes a tear
That tear dripping into those puddles making these ripples
Unwrinkle through needle-point skyscrapers, ribbons of starlings
And reflections of clouds.