October 27

There are four chambers
in the human heart,

for blood at least–
Yesterday on 9th

they were tearing down
some old apartments,

one wall peeled off
like a sardine tin

with all the rooms exposed,
seeming so small

from down below.
Maybe it takes

something brutal
to know these secret

inner workings,
and maybe it’s better

not to know, just to own
these uncertain steps,

to admit to getting
lost in my own home.

Across the street
they’re lowering rebar

into the pit, each square
framing a piece of the sky

in descent, to reinforce
the hole they dug–

The day cracks open
from its powdery shell.

A sunbeam breaks across
the farthest office tower–

Incomplete clarity,
still better than none.

OPTIONAL POETRY