Mole's Pity

Farther east begins the familiar grief.  Walking up 4th Street into the Lower East Side.  Shards of history pricking the devastation.  The old Jews gone.  Or going.  Uprooted Puerto-Ricans in their dolorous tenement flats, or leaning over fire-escapes seeking out sun.  Not finding it.  Nor finding the thread (or chain) yoking them to their Jewish near-gone brother.  A different kind of sun, though it give a similar light.  Mole's love would be to join light to....light:

Mole turns left through a fringe of Chinatown, as there are Chinese "towns" throughout the world.  Secretive like the Jews, they work, work against the great void in their chest--which is the vast country they've gone from.  Not, finally, much different from the desert of the Jews, nor from the Puerto-Ricans' island sun.  Nor from the sign of the heart between the eyes:  the black American's Africa.