Paterson
Not just the spray lifting from the brink of the Great Falls, but
the busted, blood-red of brake lights in vacant lots,
the pennies circling the bottom of a hungry man’s cup,
fire escapes, hose-watered sidewalks, the bars of storefront gates
rising at nine, the barbed wire spirals of the cellblocks
on Grand, iron bars guarding apartment windows,
slanted street lamps, the rails that run into the heart of
and far away from this city, the rooftops of vestigial silk mills—
these things, too, shine under sunlight.