1
you wear the city on your sleeve,
a mustard seed in the heart
your garden-variety prophecy
ready to blossom
while the long-arm of the sommelier law
keeps the lock-kneed drunk
on fake power

O, you city of throngs hovering near parks,
multitude of Nations amidst a verdurous canopy
of fresh-born leaves causing silhouettes
and wavering shadows on the gray cobblestoned avenue,
sunshine brightened leaves breathing life
into tall buildings their glassy windows
reflecting, reflecting . . .

O, city dwellers getting your feet wet
with green energy, incessant squeaking
from a bird’s nest half-way up on a lamppost
with a small metal NYPD box for a makeshift roof,
the scent of spring’s grass rising,
Nations of Trees rooted down
deep into the Mother Earth

     2
Sycamores with no straight lines,
picnics with dogs as attentive as the other family members,
walking the Park i eyeball the titles of books
laying on blankets
“State of Wonder”
“Past Imperfect”
unread while the people stare
breathing the Air Nation

unnoticeable i blend with the crowd
we become one, the Nation of Grass-blades
bowing at our feet

     3
a yellow-beaked speckled-bodied starling
navigates the Great Lawn like a homeless person
who has come home,
like a child learning to walk,
the Starling Nation
strolling

     4
the speaking of French i do not understand,
the motions of ants i do not understand
yet bow to the Ant Nation
and tip my imaginary chapeau,
smiles of the Japanese self-effacing
as cherry blossoms, this playground
of the mind and soul bandying about
in the sandbox of existence
all Nations drenched with Sun-light

     5
a toddler in a carriage
drags a stick along the pavement
discovering friction, revealing gravity
the solidity of things in motion
against things unmoved,
a toddler beneath the ever-watchful eye
of his mother pushing the carriage

adults for hire giving carriage rides to adults,
the scent of the Grassy Nations rising,
Nations of Trees rooted down
deep into the Mother Earth,
the Horse Nation tramping on

     6
a statue:
“To commemorate the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers
on Plymouth Rock, December 21, 1620 –
erected by New England Society
in the city of New York 1885”
the motionless figure posing with a long rifle—

there is a Linden tree of European origin,
can someone tell me where a Lenape statue is?
and when will the Pilgrim Fathers bow down
to Mother Earth who holds dear so many Nations?

     7
but on this day
no one offends me,
no one praises me,
i offend no one
and praise no one,
no one walks these trails
yet only One is walking,
such multitudinous limbs,
such variegated two-legged strolls,
stopping to bow to the Nation of Robins,
Crawling Nations invisible to naked eyes,
a young girl calls out, smiling
“forests so you can hide”

     8
humble sparrows almost camouflaged on dusty patches,
bicyclists trying to get a handle on the situation,
the boathouse pond, the Rock Dove (Pigeon) Nation
with green and fuchsia iridescence on their necks,
a man with dreadlocks, and two blond German-speaking
women, a bronze duck at the feet
of Hans Christian Andersen

     9
an elder man with a tan baseball cap
& yellow-orange-green plaid shirt & brown pants
scrapes on a violin, the sounds
bordering on pleasant but i toss him a dollar anyway,
who among us has been perfect?
who among us is not scraping by?
when will Israel and Palestine stop trying to punish
whoever it was that cast the first stone?

an accordion sits on the ground
as he plays the violin
reverberating ancient Hebraic tunes,
his age-old yet in-the-moment Eagle eyes,
the sounds of my ancestors
i bow to them and to his Nation of Street Musicians,
he is no Heifetz but almost brings me
to a river of tears, a river of smiles,
all my relatives flashing before my eyes

     10
ducks and automated mini-sailboats
glide the concrete-rimmed pond adjacent
to the snack bar where timeless years ago
father&son snacked
on Sunday mornings

a man in a wheelchair
is missing a leg from below the knee

“Tweedledum and Tweedledee
   Agreed to have a battle;
For Tweedledum said Tweedledee
   Had spoiled his nice new rattle.”

children climbing the bronze figurines
of Alice’s state of Wonderland & Co.

     11
walking by the makeshift baseball field
of my childhood dreams, the diamond
of an infield where father&son played catch
and though he is not there, nor i,
what eye within this head
still sees the scene

     12
a city is a multi-culture of Nations
trying to find itself
in the deepest shadows of the Park,
the deepest shadows cast by banksters
who have refused to bow down to all Nations
but worship their dollared-selves,
in God they bust

New York, you have taken in the poor, huddled masses
yearning to breathe free—
now what?!
we are still huddling, still poor,
yearning . . .

the rhododendrons are blooming,
people with hotdogs on napkins are walking,
there are no policemen in sight,
O, Manahatta, they must trust us,
these Nations on such a fine Sunday afternoon
spread across the Park like a multi-colored quilt
upon the monotonously beautiful green
whose scent rises, the one-leggeds rooted down
deep into the Mother Earth

     13
four Incans from Ecuador --
with the brown skin and white shirts
with delicate embroidery to prove it --
play flute guitar violin mandolin
they sing and shake shakers,
more little rattles at their feet
for the children to pick up and shake
and they do, the children shaking and dancing
and smiling, a woman with a cane
is also dancing, the rhythm of the people lifted,
an African American doing yogic stretches
to stay loose as a Goose Nation

     14
Tweedledum and Tweedledee with your battle,
Empires of machinations,
pretending to be Nations,
i will not bow down to you
with your killing machines
and your killing fields and your henchmen,
i will not name you,
i will not give you the pleasure of recognition,
you know who you are
so you’ll just have to accept my sincere
“go fuck yourself!”
our roots go deeper
than the weeds you so despise,
“nātiō” to be born,
not to kill,
each moment a birth,
each breath a Nation,
each seed an ancestor 

    15
on my knees bowing down
to the Flower Nations,
they make common sense
grouped together like ladies
with colorful hats and wearing
their Sunday best

an Asian woman asks
“where is Picasso?”
my response
“in the museum?”
is not satisfactory
she walks on

     16
joggers with bouncing breasts,
young women with legs like ponies,
men with hills for biceps,
leaning on the Nation of Rocks
more men with hidden hard-ons,
O, this is such a spring day,
arise and bow down to all Nations

     17
O, Manahatta, no human is an island entire of itself
but each is a sovereign Nation!
each with feet on the ground and head spinning
in the Star Nation, each drenched with Sun-light,
each feeling the Rain on the skin,
Fire in the belly rising to heat the mustard seed
heart blossoming, each of us striving

     18
New York, get off your high Wall Street bull
and stop calling yourself “the greatest city in the world,”
all cities are a multi-culture of Nations
trying to find themselves in the deepest shadows

O, Manahatta,
once you were rolling green hills and rocks,
O, Manahatta,
Native ancestors are buried under hard trodden streets,
O, Manahatta,
you must eat what you can import,
O, Manahatta,
the Kosmos of Walt Whitman is getting tired
of somewhere waiting for you,
O, Manahatta,
city of my this-incarnation’s birth,
if it pleases you i’ll wear a carnation on my sleeve,
if it pleases you a symphony in my back pocket,
you, city of Car Nation, Taxi Nation, Bus Nation,
Subway Nation, it hurts a little to bow down to you
but your taxi took me to a destination,
your subway taught me the wisdom of earthworms,
and your buses about the faces of my brothers&sisters
O, Manahatta, how it can hurt a little to sit down,
to stand up,
to hang on,
O,  though it sometimes hurts a lot,
each day arise and bow down to all Nations
and especially when it feels so good
bow down deeper to all Nations

Photo: Alice in Wonderland in Central Park
Located just north of the Conservatory Water at East 74th Street, Alice in Wonderland stands eleven feet tall in bronze, surrounded by the Mad Hatter, the White Rabbit and a few of her other friends. The sculpture was constructed in 1959 by José de Creeft under the commission of philanthropist George Delacorte so that children could visit and experience the wonder of Lewis Carroll’s classic story. Atypical of most sculptures, children are invited to climb, touch and crawl all over Alice and her friends. In fact, through the decades thousands of hands and feet have literally polished parts of the statue’s surface smooth.