imagist poem

The city kindles, licking flat heaven,

now the bright orange of hot soft iron;

forged. Bullets of sweat well from its pores and,

cuneiform, tumble below.

Moaning to a halt, the metro flaps apart its shutters

to disgorge a rumpled woman

whose feet hammer the pavement, heavy with drink.

Adrift in a minor storm, she tips and bobs,

sways, stamps, becomes sodden,

when something draws her bottle-drunk gaze:

an odd rock creeping along water-blackened concrete.

She crouches. Her fingers plunge through thick wet air

and pry loose the small sucking body.

Hand-hammocked, tender brown telescopes extend,

and liquor-burnt lips pinch close;

almost maternally,

she transfers him to a drowned leaf

and stomps away.