What are you?

Because the Bronx
is getting a public observatory,
and the dome will sing lullabies

to the reservoir and field in
the dark. Because another long-armed

poem sweeps in and around
all those dusty corners
and tenuously dangling

webs in search
of a true connection.

Because beyond the river
and sloping woods
behind an airport. Because

you can’t get there from here,
and the bridle path taunts

us from the other side.
Because shadows scour
graffiti-drenched concrete

beneath the overpass without
erasing a thing. Because cooler air

coming through the passage
after the aroma of spring
defines the last day

in January. Because it won’t last.
Because our trees

could become confused—
roots waking up,
branches leafing out

too early. Because
it’s February now,
and these apple slices

must be eaten before
they turn brown. Because

the falsework will rot soon,
and it will be time for you
to show me what you’ve got.

Because I used to be
merely a gully with a dream.

And what remains
of the ice lanterns
in the front yard.

Because the kiln takes its time
powering down. Because

how do you do

that thing you do?
Because a freight train

heads southwest as I wind
my way northeast. Because
I have Romeo

beside me. Juliet is no longer
leaning on you. Because falling

is not an option. Because
cement, cardboard, ceramic
tiles tucked securely inside

each car rattling by.
Because who am I

to question you
with my mudslide
tendencies? Because the devil’s

backbone is razor sharp.
Because the stars

can be seen in the city at night.