The art of the century is to hear
sun through mulberry,
small ball of white light centered
in torn leaves. We are not
biblical? Here in grounded
in verse as children while
the poor present alms to the poor,
we are freedom finding itself.

We have no answers.
Some of us missed the broadcast
to success. The neighborhood
fills with unseen deep-throated
robins. Remember
what it means to be alone
we say, disliking or loving
mad streets, where the broken
fearlessly ride buses.
We cannot fix the contest
outside, even if we
rubberneck our way
through accident and luck.

Henri Martin, Pergola at the South Door of Marquayrol