Some Sunken Urban Parks

don’t deserve to be
preserved. Sometimes
a smile is too

precious, a phrase too
slippery, a mirror
too polished, room

too clean, dog
too calm, child too
still, a bird
too blue. I might be

the street that got too
wide. But no tree
could ever be
too tall.

Channels

This is no Big Sur, Dingle
Peninsula, Wasque—
this is somewhere

in the middle. A river
that has starred
as the main character

in novels, caused cities to be
built, become a final stop
for the tormented

and despairing. It is a river
that should be frozen
by now. That only its fringes

cutting against its banks
are covered in a thin sheet
of ice is another story

that needs to be
told. And I’m no narrator
for the fresh or salt.