Mornings wet in the sun

I want to know the
the mystery of asphalt
the decayed ghosts of buildings in my city
i am baptized daily in
the mist of the Falls
but sin envy at every
corner, all the Japanese
and Koreans seeing my
streets and water
for the first time through
windows of buses dispatched
from Toronto, I know they are
happy to smile in front
of the rainbow, a snapshot
freezing the linear madness
of time slipping away from us all
but they do not know the secret
migration of the unhappy
and broken away to Atlanta
or some where Maryland, leaving
an emptiness that strides each
heart beat, we are a casino wager here
bad choices with money and yet hope
keeps the city thriving
with motion, a man
pushing a shopping cart
filled with empties, a woman
begging cigarettes and change
we need something to fill
the pot holes where our hearts where
and we find it and we do it
finally with or with out
the world that comes
to see water fall
167 feet to the rocks below, as
our lives rise and sink like the water
thought turbines lighting
cities and people else where not knowing
what the light switch means as
it goes on and finally off.