. . . four flights up, the windowsill waits. A wick
languishes in its own spent body, holds the secrets
of Chinatown in waxen arms as variegated ivy
shuffles down brick lintels, licking memories
one tendril at a time.
–excerpt from “Bowery Spring” in To Sip Darjeeling at Dawn by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, Chicago 2008). Published in Chinese translation in New Poetry Appreciation.