Non-Erotic PoetryBehind the Marble LionsIn this city of much,
Bryant Park
hides itself in the shadow of noise
and announces nothing.
As the sparrow sprites rummage under the ivy
looking for their lost luggage
we titter. Even this is hushed
by the silent sentinels wearing overcoats of green
and bark.
Another country may be heard,
a fly’s hiccough, the asphalt groaning,
if one listens. No one here cares
much
for that music
when there is luggage to be found.
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