There is a burning river running
from this city into my heart. It
coils like a trumpet past
offices full of white noise
and piles of rock like
old dreams. It stirs among
the buildings as a homeless
woman writing poetry and
flickers along the hands of
the hot dog man.
If you pay attention,
soon there will be
a burning river running
into your heart.

And punk rock kids dance
in the light of the water,
holding fast to flames
no one else will see.

Cleveland, 2005

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