“the body reclines” by Tony Iantocsa

the body reclines
in sun to quiver
over lost notebooks
under the seat
of a stranger whistling
north on the train past
empty hospitals the vines
are nursing back to
a communion with
the dirt as songs
boomerang through
the frame’s blues and
greens to touch my
impalpable face
gasping in gallery-white
clogged as a road
through a marsh
there are desires
there falling sliced
by streetlights that
pull the early morning
down from a shelf
and fill an afternoon
with this humming