April 2020

When I came to—crocuses were pushing up
purple in my garden, return of the cooing dove—

and when I got out at Penn Station there were no faces
along the tracks—

wind blew through 32nd Street with a faint whiff of onions
and hair spray

cabs drifted between lanes like bumper cars at Asbury Park

crosswinds; crosstown; the uroboric shape of Columbus Circle