Out of the rains
And mud of cities
Walking in a fog
On subway platforms
In Harlem and Brooklyn and Queens
I see the faces of children
Staring at me
And I want to run from the city
Past freights
And ships
And buildings that scrape the sky
I want to race down streets
Dreaming of mountains and Spanish girls
I am a poet
I stare at the ground to see if I am bleeding.