My tears are falling
in New York City,
and the people walking
under it know so.
They look up to the clouds
above their heads
and say,
“These are the tears
of one who once said,
‘This is home.’”
And the sidewalks drink
the trickles of salt,
never once erasing
my footprints
from the asphalt,
never once forgetting
my steps
that danced on it daily
without fail,
without halt.
As they slide
down the windowpanes,
watering
what remains
of my touch
in the towers, flowers,
every passing hour,
in the smiles and laughter
of those who scour
for love
under the tearful shower.
Sidewalks Drunk With Salt
August 30, 2021
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