Though the park’s grass is triangled and squared,
and the sidewalk trees are metal-grated,
tonight I see— stars with both eyes open.
In respect of midnight sky, the city houses hunker low,
While, across the Eridanus, Orion shepherds clouds.
From these darkened doorsteps, between Newark and me, tidal
Hudson twists unseen; there, life also feels the brisas blow.
Like my inner wrists, these branches:
in lamplit skin, veins are kissed
with chapsticked lips, small fingertips;
scaled bark is raindropped.
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