at night, you can hear it beyond the changing channels tv chatter – every few minutes, just past the distant bouncing basketball, a whirring, gentle and consistent – a beat kept along the tracks.
two days ago, spring-time’s warmth looked just like darts thrown from
the second floor of a neighbor’s window and stuck, purple and yellow-winged in the grass.
today, despite their early-season height,
the tulips rose to kiss the sun
and i, with them, to coney island’s boardwalk—
not quite jogging along the sand, shadowboxing 
but alive with warmth
and nudged along by breeze.
