Bryant Park


Grassbellied it breathes for us as our hands unravel,
our spines & covers
& contents bared
to the sky.

From your shoulder’s end, clouds come as pudgy children
with no explication
or weather-sutra,
sweating rain.

Worms begin hump-kneading to breathe
& if we are still, I hope your folds will
settle in to mine to meld with the worms
& their legless crusade,

to welcome all & disgorge it whole;
the life is in the soil between, for to stay is not
to fill a blank and departures
are not defeat.