It's the love starting to get of gory, so I better--
well I might as well go ahead and finish something here.
Let me read you a poem called two voices from Hester Street,
which is Hester Street as a street in Notting Hill
lounge in Manhattan downtown.
Manhattan.
And I was looking at some photographs
of Hester Street The look--
Hester Street-- the photographs of Hester street
that I was looking at, look like the scenes in the movie
'Godfather II' with the shop of the carts
and the stands in the street.
The only thing Hester street was primarily a Jewish neighborhood
for more generally southern southeastern European
neighborhood.
Two voices from Hester Street, a woman
will speak first and then a man.
As my wife points out speaks and he says more than the woman.
All right i see she right here.
This morning in the warm air I paint the sheets
out my window that beat my life until I
am mad in the dry hand of clothespin.
I am a Psalm in this new land, like a barn filled with wheat
and flies.
My white skin music grins lost in the air.
I see her here, I see her here singing.
The black birds a while they declare the common things.
The famine in the green in the eyes
of the poor, their wings are unreasonable
strands, unreachable strands they tear my life raw wife
this morning controlled like the vegetables
downstairs down in the bin speechless
and religious with the crowds as my love for her.
If I could take the crows of a hair with me down the stairway,
and hang them in front of me for the darkness something we have
suspected would rise up in our hands,
would say Abraham Abraham.