Sandbox

I entered out of simple curiosity, because rain was

pooling there,

because fog had wooled the split

fence—into animal—mammalia!—

and I yearned to touch its sway-backed spine,

because touch reminds me I’m alive and venturing forward in a body.

(body as paper lantern, body as light beyond bones’ blueprints)

I entered, though there was no drama there, no petty thief’s

drop-kick -garbage can-crash

out of sheer adrenaline joy at getting away

with something in the small shop of human law.

No performance from the make-out queen

and her boyfriend who stocks produce in the market—huge nests

of oranges and pears, vine tomatoes—

(O, to live out all my days within his pyre of soft blue plums!)

—when he’s not unhinging

his jaw to kiss his girlfriend in this alley.

Alley without  name,  I entered here to force my hand, to scrape coarse

gravel, to skin the bullet of a solollife

and find beneath,  a child magician

with her one-trick quarter.  Here—today—because:

(another ghost walks next to me, and I, with all my body on.)

From Alley Scatting.

Reprinted with the author’s permission.