If You, Willett

If you need to mind me tonight,
come, I’ll be

swaying down on Willett Street.
To a merciful God you won’t believe in,

language I’ll conjure from memory,
on the spot.

The unknown faces you don’t believe in,
a cacophony I’ll awake to,

ready or not.
Fears infinite as charity once believed in,

rocks in empty bassinets,
a little if a lot.

If you need to kiss me tonight,
come, I’ll be

drinking there on Willett Street.
Exilic quartets, diaspora-side,

toasting pigeons for what
they never got.