poetry comes when no one is looking
when all are fascinated
by the flashing lights
and the sirens

it comes in the garbage
that' s left on the sidewalk
what was old was new
again the cycle begins

it comes in the sunlight
off construction sites
and men with hammers in their pockets
in the mud the machines make

it comes in the tired eyes closing
subway sleep through the
announcements of what's next to come
jolting awake

it comes in in the morning
when thougths aren't fully formed
in the absence of shape
it comes
like water.