running between rails,
a small strip of unmolested snow.
don’t let them take it away from you
this ribbon shining and blank
perhaps the only continuous, innocent line
in the whole filthy city
kindred to the scraps of purity
gathered on the tops of the streetlights
on the windowsill where any moment
a pigeon may light with its foul claws
and leave some defilement
along the brims of officer caps
before they turn in from the night beat
to drip themselves dry.