the moon's bottom half hangs low
over manhattan, like an ornament

near the base of a tree.
these trains track forever between

burroughs, days and nights and days,
from the view in at south

street seaport, the statue of
liberty rewarding lower manhattan?s

concrete canyons, to the bronx where
the only view out over the charged

east river, the river they cleaned
and moved on, is that wall at rikers island

that feels so small from here,
on this train, so far away.