Sitting in the window ledge, up here In this fourth floor walk-up, I rest my head Against the signs of rain in the clouds Which I glimpse in the square of court- Yard sky, and try to think of a song that I can sing to this well of windows Notched like a matrix or a puzzle of Black squares in dirty brick walls,
Which would allow me, again for A little while this Saturday dawn, to be My still sleeping brothers’ keeper.