The sky turns hard
Like cauliflower,
And bleeds me out.
It turns hard,
Because I do.
I am the blood of the Earth
And bile, its running waste.
I am its health chorus.
I have known many faucets,
Creaky most, unknowing of any grander plot,
Chartering my way through lime and rust,
I have known many faucets.
I have also known mountaintops.
Places where the air is clean,
And in its own pace blows freshly over my back.
I am, on the mountain, a slumbering snowcap.
I blanket the mountaintop, I am locked with it
In a never ending kiss.
I have known places in the countryside
Where the air breathes nearly as fresh,
Sweeping down from the mountains
Thinking of me mostly, in an open talk.
I have known cities,
Where I am not so well received,
Where I must pound myself between the brick buildings,
Places drowning in nooks and crannies,
I am not so well received, though I try so hard
To reach every surface.
I slide down the sides of walls, I tremble from the slide of awnings,
I mix with gravel.
I am your dirt, your cleanliness.  I feed the doves.  I drown insects.
I wash the air between your city lives, leave your cars and livelihoods
Shining.  I am washed away by the sun, but never leave.
You see me in your gutters.  You see me in your grates.
You cannot live without me.