So the sky wounded you, jagged at the heart, glass shard flying from liquor store window smashed. They had warned you, blue means danger. The kid runs off zigzagging the crowd, clutching his prize of Scotch; 5 the liquor man yells. Those Grecian dreams endure even New York. You think you’re safe, humdrumming along the sidewalk’s common, readable gray, calmly digesting your hunk of daily bread, 10 with flesh enough on your bones to cast some shade, but puddle flashes, car window glints, a stranger casts you a glance from a previous life: the sky! And there you stand unclouded, un-named, as naked as 15 the chosen Aztec facing the last shebang— (his last shebang; the globe keeps rolling along slipslop in its tide of blood)— So there you stand holding your sky-stabbed heart in your hands 20 to offer—to whom?— while the liquor man curses the daylights out of the cop, and the crowd clumps dully away. And you: “What you lookin’ at? 25 Move on!” So you move on and grateful, by God, in the grit gray light of day.