A View of a Storm

A View of a Storm

The day before the rain began
another jazz martyr ascended,
carrying his crystal tenor,
and returned to the water.
Maybe it was Albert Ayler, the Holy Ghost.

Then it rained forever
until the Hudson
burst its banks at
23rd Street and the East River
poured into Avenue C.
I saw it from my window:
The fishes, freed, walked on land.

When 14th Street exploded,
Manhattan cut in two.
With darkness like a
diminuendo descending,
wounded starlings fell from the sky,
littering the ground
from Breezy Point to Hell Gate,
but still unfilled
the empty spaces are unfilled.