by Natalie Korman
You are a hard brown gray place Manhattan
but I can trace your western edge in soft green
You are a sooty smoke searing place Manhattan
but I can breathe deep that sweet lilt of things growing
And as I drag my toes up the still-cold bank of the Hudson
I can breathe, breathe, breathe the clear air of sprawling suburb
where springtime lives but I am choked burnt longing for you Manhattan
WILLOWS WEPT REVIEW 