This Motion, These Whispers

—Washington Square Park

Potter's field to parade ground—Sure, people

visit, dip their feet, dance

on 20,000 bodies under. This weedy-wet

shower shoots, blooms, from stone

and bone, femurs reaching out

for femur. C'mon, take a swim, throw

it in, won't you? We are always turning

to the dead to make us. See how,

in this yellow-light, the feverish air twists

and balls and glimmers?