hot verse into this window's open mouth.
A silver hymn, beaded with prayers, hangs
like its Christ from the rearview mirror.
Past Riverside, a saline epic shifts, propelling
sewage, a cradle for blue crabs and plankton.
Wailing over the baseball field, newborn graffiti
lyrically claims cliffed Manhattan schist.
The root of a Siberian ode of an elm carries cobblestone
and tips my toes on the corner of one-tenth street;
and London Planes, green from pilfering pollution,
peel brown haiku to bare white bark within.
Each tentacle a series of circles: fossilized,
an elegy ages in the limestone wall.
Copyright Xiomara A. Maldonado 2011