The sculptor unveiled a block

A block of marble bought with the

Cents, dollars, kept under lock

Kept under a lock and key.

The sculptor went home again

while rain and lightning poured from skies

Stepped upon the midnight train,

I have wondered why my body

looks the way it does in the sun.

Brow bone glittering, sweat

tricking like the last swill of water

down a glass, blood circulating

like clockwork, a gear so visceral

and rooted in its own

Was it the way the leaves fell,

streamlined, as I burst

bawling onto greenery,



or the first time sunlight peeked

through dark branches overhead—



or the reddish-purple skin

stretched over my sleeping body,

Let the Rain Keep Falling

O birthplace rain     I take what I can from

your mouth,    delivering myself

             from spring seeds,

wetting my tongue