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Brooklyn,
Baghdad, March 2003
My eyes cast down
Where two bees
crawled along the rail
Trying to shake the rain
to fly
again.
I wandered in an instant
From the bridge, high
Toward Central Park West
and drank... straight from the
sky.
A half a world away a lone F-16
rolls into a
gentle dive
and a bunker erupts in thunder
Echoing across
the ancient metropolis
Drowning the calls to prayer
With
the unmistakable call to war
And that, unheeded, to
surrender
The west rolls into these river valleys
Where
some say agrarian life began
Uncertain what the future will
bring
But for Saddam, Uday, Usay
Little but
destruction
Though that, itself, is nothing new.
I
stand and breathe deep
As the cloudburst sun dries fragile
wings
Bringing the air again ever closer.
It's good to
be... alive
good to be in Brooklyn today
This rag-and-bone
shop of my heart.
I'm here to learn to Fly
...or perhaps
you could say, to fly again.
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