Time ©

in the neighborhood, we

wait for time to reach its

end, lean our heads into

the strongest breeze and

listen to the church bells

up the street sounding a

thousand names. in the

humiliated tenement the

clocks are full of holes 

and no longer keep track 

of dreams. we stand before 

windows looking into the

alleys where dogs cannot

find earth to hide bones

scavenged from trash cans

that describe the block with

stories in many tongues. we

live in the world of never 

been, restless for ultimate

secrets to be disclosed in

the Ponce social club, the

corner bodega and maybe

the absent-minded church.  

the lamenting cries around

us are not heard on the other

side of town, and we keep

showing up at Mass at the

church by the subway station

praying for the grand miracle

of a new beginning.  

h. j. Recinos