Uneven
Out my living room window I watch a little girl trip
on uneven sidewalk tile and crack her knee against
sunlit concrete. There is a little scratch and a lot of crying;
her father kneels down to kiss the knee--blood between
his lips, he mouths something I can only read as,
All better? And the little girl says nothing, instead
she looks up and stops crying.
Sunlight hits me from between the cables of the Verazzano
and I remember your fingertips.
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