Jersey City - Portland in the First Style of Fire

seeing them
dad and uncle
coming round the corner
with brown paper bags
full of bread

drew fireflies
to old dust-
y
memory

the bread store, the vietnamese
grocery
all found their way
into hungry bellies

when we buried him
we buried him
with two urns
filled with dog
ashes
his allies
in the world of
fingerprinting and
going round the corner
for bread and squid and
broccoli rabe

last night
I walked back
from the drinks
and tapas

the portland mission made me
sidestep
humans sleeping
lined up along the wall
hugging tight
what was warm and
what was hard
concrete

once I would have
been beery enough
and brave
to sit with them
and talk
baseball, blue
Sundays
the ways I was
only luck
and they were
not

once I would have been
but

whose voice
anyway
rings through
I wish I could remember
the way it was said
when it was said
better

in J.C. they turn
the hydrants
and the kids
become photographs
of joy
in Portland
the streets open
in fountain
in swimming
and they dive in
then come up and throw
watersparks
off the highest
angle

in both
I try to be
graceful
in standing aside,
don't want them
to notice
or care
or try to pull me
into circles
unto groups

I'm much happier
here
not there, not
where
some other number
of things
bend
some other number
of things