I smelled the honeysuckles before I saw them.

washington heights 2017

the air : cool and thick, like water : it carried
the blossoms to me. I walked 100 blocks 
until the worry wore to weariness 
& the weariness cracked
split open : nectarines
the stem of the honeysuckle
geode heart : the baby bird 
on the hot pavement &
the merciful shadow. The teenager 
flicking away a blunt : gently
reaching into lush treetops,
a dark green nest to bury the bird.
Last night, I got my hands dirty.
the soil : cool and crumbling
& full of bugs & bones of birds &
the breath of dust & the other day 
the boy with coffee skin told me
what to burn to nourish the earth
but what do we break to feed the body?
bread peaches hips open palms open eyes
open mouths : the empty space in the body
for breath, the hollow of the palm for
a scoop of soil, the time in the day
to walk and wander. all the benefits
of space and charcoal, soil, dust,
sweat evaporating into summer night
organic matter : carbon and light.