The Germanic tribes
had a word
bruch
meaning “marsh,”
but it sounds like “book.”

I’ve wondered whether
brauchen – “to
use”
or “digest”
– is related to bruch…

For our world’s stomach
acid eats
soil
away from
stones, anxiety

beats us, erodes… or
uses us
well,
how The Brook
deltas Marshland’s clothes.

Old English men came
to use broc:
stream
in a marsh.
And new words arose:

The Poet tramps through
the marsh then
home
to help his
Misses cook a meal,

drops a plate down
on a stone
where,
shattered, it
reminds him of broc.

He points. Says, “Broc.” Writes.
His village cites.
Then
citation
stops. Revises its source:

Broke. (A word is born).
Two words: one
head,
then mouth. One
spank, then follows sound.

One life-giving muse,
one ruin:
brook
(marsh’s veins)
broke (penniless; pain)

We come to now, to
towns how named,
races
split… or
regenerated.

We ask our burrow:
what is this?
What’s this?
Oh what will you be, today,
dear Brooklyn?