Postacropolistic

The televangelist’s tower
glowers uptown

at the pile of cigarette butts
industry left

on an unmown lawn.
A weary train glides through

remembers stopping
at a window in the unleased skyscraper

the fresh dust of drywall
the uphill building

potential. The hum is traffic
blood cajoled

to swift and distant bypasses
so the suffering heart may be kept safe

and last.
Only hospitals grow

grass protests
through established sidewalks

signposts beg for paint
to show the way.

Featured photo courtesy of Jessica Anshutz. Find her on Twitter or Instagram @flannelkimono.

Sawah

The city’s distant glimmers below
sparkle through
         its intimate dust,
as diamonds without their microscopes
to naked eyes
        seem close enough.
As always, water weaves
toward equilibrium
down each green
          step of rice,
the river in trickling pieces
tickling the wanderer’s ears.
Barefoot children with bamboo baskets

dream of a thousand elsewheres
rumored from their rough-tuned radios.
They balance thin spaces
between level
        and low,
immune to routine
and imminent beauty.