In Brooklyn

Can't you just appreciate the delicate pink of the blossoms, said God,the fine craftsmanship of the stem?

        And I lookedat the cherry tree standing in its fenced-in plot on the traffic island onKent Street as the cars rolled by heading toward the bars and shopsand I saw the soil, and it looked like sand.

This is Paradise, said God, the lost Eden to which you have returned.

And God said, can't you see I have gathered in the exiles? By day they ridethe underground chattering in their many tongues. At night, they returnto their rooms. They have shoes to wear and blankets on their cots.

        I walked pastthe vagrants on Calyer Street standing with their shopping cartsoutside the supermarket by the bottle slots where the sign said, "redeem."

And God said, now every tree is a tree of knowledge and forgetting.

The little beasts roam freely once again among the machine of men.The rat is at home on the subway tracks. The coyote patrols the kinderpark.

And haven't I given you exquisite sunsets, dramatic onesin scarlet and pinks? So what if there's a little smog.

                And I checked my iPhonefor the photos.

I haven't forgotten my promises. There's a whole rainbow in petroleum.

I just don't have time for tired faces and sorry lots, said God,humming like a generator, I'm a stock boy now. I fill the shelves with goods.