Somewhere in the Indian Ocean the monsoon
winds are ripping small birds from thesky.

Somewhere in North America a boy
has discovered his father'spornography.

Somewhere outside my window two girls
wearing white arelinking arms and twirling,

screeching, heads back, mouthscatching
drops of rain and the fragrance of hyacinths,

and because oneof them has fallen and skinned
her elbow, the other doesn't pull too hard

Somewhere in Africa the sun is mounted red
over a savannah, the neonlights advertising a

Johannesburg pawn shop is abuzz with
white lightas a violin strains over the sound of

shoes against sewer gratings and thehiss of
buses coming to premature stops, while in Greenberg,

NewJersey, someone is crying into a GAP cardigan
because the boy who snapped hersenior

prom photo 60 years ago (the one in which her
lipstick issmeared, her forehead is glistening) has

written her, on Holiday Innstationery,
a reminder of overdue chemistry homework.

Somewhere inBeijing a peddler shuffles
awake, the main road siphons a trail of bluebicycles

from down the street where they will meet, head-on,
anothermass of bicycles, and at the red light

the three women wearing Parisianperfume and
five-dollar shoes will simultaneously adjust their skirts