Netting

From the street,
she sees a hammock affixed
to some bare
elms in a city

park. A how to live
in urban green before
it greens. Bad
poetry never makes good

architecture. Good
architecture makes good

poetry if
the intentional flaw

doesn’t compromise
the structure. She wonders
how tight
those knots are tied.

Good Earth Friday

Bucked on her own bicycle
through Central Park in the rain. Blue

Man Group was still blue
babies recovering from that original choke

without tubes. Never knowing
the price of gas anywhere. She could no more

identify the car you drive than you could
label her a type of flower that grows through cracks

in the sidewalk. Could be any day—she chooses
to call this one her station.