Maxwell

17

Pulling The Beds

_this summer is like the night waves
washing over the tops of my feet
illuminated by the full moon
calling
_every rush of salty foam
a gift in collaboration
with my presence
_the moon watches me and
I watch the shimmering film
of ocean retract at my ankles
_and I am conscious
that this shimmering summer
is retracting below me as well

_the smell of thriving tomato plants
bathing in bathtubs
_the sound of a young boy pushing plastic
toys down an empty morning 96th street
-enlightened words of that brilliant old man
in a chair in his tree
crackpipe in hand
never unhappy
_sweaty swamps of ecstatic strangers
dancing and shoving and
holding my hand
_Late night midtown curbs below joy
with brownsville’s face next to mine
and in and out of the window of
a passing police car
_brownsville in a suit
and tie under the M
_the most genius richard with
hammers and cornrows
and power drills and paper ninjas
_blinking with intimidation
to the face of a sunflower
beaming a hundred and thirty feet
above the earth
_the earth
leaching into all forever

_and this time another year
summer will hang on me like ripe tomatos
_and this time another year
I will bath in soil
Below the sunflowers
watching