Unusual tool of the day,
the day I hold in my hand
to pry time open with
and see, just see.

2.
Rusty old el train
tracks overhead,
the long street so busy
darkened by all the going
above it, I know this city,
nothing like iron
to make you feel at home.

3.
At the top of the stairs
up to the station
she crouches,
retrieves something
from the iron meshwork,
something small,
stows it in her white jeans.
This is America
and I will never know.

4.
The reflection of the white lampshade
in the window through which
I study the colorless day outside
all grey and snow looks
strangely like a yellow tree—
I thought you should know.

5.
A voice in the hip pocket
sings an iron song,
you listen a while
then try to write it down,
a language you can’t name
but in words you understand,
seems to say Everything I am
is for somebody else, anybody,
everybody, even you.

6.
Who are these strangers
who live in us,
venture out only when we sleep
and then make free
of all our streets, cities,
parts of speech?
What did she put in her pocket?
Was it me? The key
is rusty but opens every door.

5 February 2021