These are mountains
These are my hands
These are beehives foreclosed and shuttered
These are my grandchildren in the war zone

And now the puzzle pieces go into hiding in black dimensions
Tahrir Squares everywhere waiting 

                                          -- New York, June 21, 2011


For Roger Greenwald

The color yellow
Has had a hard day
It walks home slowly
With its soft hands in its pockets

Streets ceremoniously lower their names for the night
Like flags
Folding them carefully into the shadows

The number 403 has accomplished great things
And is now preparing lentil soup
It will eat alone at the table
With places set for beloved 12 and philosophical 845

Lost wallets
Dropped dolls and half-eaten sandwiches
Rest now and begin to enjoy their new freedom
Today at least they have not been found

All of us
Have had enough
Of June 5, 2011
We allow it to walk backwards into history
Without so much as a goodbye
Or a thank you
                                             -- New York, June 5, 2011