New York's problem is our problem­
We don't trust-
Lack of trust
Due to lack of understanding­
And so we ache and hurt.

When I stop and think how alone I am­
It is depressing.
It is better to be gay in crowds
Of two or more
And not think.

Poems return-
Washed up on the beach
That absorbs and makes one.
I gather the soaked sand
And build it into castles.