avenue c

A water droplet
swells into itself,
each barb in the wire
beading to a tiny crisis,
clinging for a moment
and then-
your exile.

mouthsfull spill from gutters,
and kiss against the curb;
an open fist of flowers
huddles against stained walls
in another word for wind;
vials puddling into
smaller worlds,
wasted at the drain.

A muddy hiss wheels by
in lonely witness:
a yellow cab
finding its way out.

Away from
the trickling crowd,
a gentle misting
on the cobblestones,
performs a storm before the lamps.