Brooklyn in March
I never sit easy, nor stand quite still
this mind rushes miles, searches thrills.
the radiant Brooklyn sun fools everyone
as March is seldom warm.
coffee is steamy,
and the milk means calm.
It seeps through cracks and paint chips
of my home's wood pillars in spring -
the urge to sail east in cool winds.
it breathes like this house at midnight,
it glides through my skin.
of my home's wood pillars in spring -
the urge to sail east in cool winds.
it breathes like this house at midnight,
it glides through my skin.