*

Empty and the sand
follows you along Broadway
as if some dampness

was left for shoreline
moves the IRT up
then down the way clammers

use their feet to rake
--you walk on tracks
careful not to miss

while the train underneath
breaks open its doors
all at once --no, you don't jump

nothing like that
--these shells are the same
the mad feel for

though their sweat takes the place
water grieves into
and their mouths are the same

let you yell down
and not a mark inside your body
to call you by.