NEW YORK/AFTERMATH
taste of televised
smoke and grit
at 2:00 a.m.
you have fallen asleep
at last
but your face
looks worried
I pull the curtains back
to look at the mosque
across the street
all is quiet
here
although it isn't
and the dark
sky I raise my eyes to
has little lights
all over:
so many stars are open
VULTURE
ahead in the road
I wanted it to be a mirage
a trick of light
not real
we parked
got out then
I had a camera
in my hands
there was something dead
we were dead
the only thing alive
was the sun
vultures, even alive,
are dead
cities made from rocks
not sun and an eye
turns: death can fly
no one but us
to see
though we talk
about it anyway
even now I'm not sure
maybe you are
what we saw
