Centers, I know about centers. Doughnut,
cupcake, Jewish Community,
centers, I know about centers.
Centre Street, or Center Street, Hakeem,
Akeem: “The African Dream”; Centers
I know about, centers,
I, know about centers.
Day 183, midway aside a Poplar tree,
Mecca, Jerusalem, sweet Mother
McCree, centers, I know about,
centers. What the centaurs ate, when
the center held, who the center was?
Centers. I know
Your city ends, means beyond new
cities, ignorant of peaceable ways.
New city, an easy stepping traverse
of identities, transmission:
permeable as laid fish
into concrete, speckle of blood, trickle
of electric web, first meditations,
fatiguing, sleep resurfacing.
The entangling village; evident, unstoried,
open legged as the upcoming stride.
What of the old town? What of the order
unbending, the anarchic forecasts
flailing for participatory cogency? And
what of the nightbirds’ soliloquies,
tonight, at Peretz Square?
My child learned
1) in a word
My child upheld
2) in a word
My child forged
3) in a word
My child renamed
4) in a word