I’ve long admired street poets who set up a table with pens and paper (sometimes a typewriter) on a sidewalk or other outdoor space and write an on-the-spot poem for people passing by.

On this trip to New York I’m traveling with my poet friend Mary Mackey as she does two readings for her most recent book, “Creativity: Where Poems Begin.” Mary and I walked the High Line—a 1.45-mile-long elevated park created on a former New York Central Railroad spur—where we encountered a poet who set up shop on the High Line offering her craft. We engaged her to write a poem about us and gave her the first line, which is also the title.

So instead of one of my poems today, I’m offering you one by this young poet, Benedith Laure Loiseau, whom two older lady poets met and asked for a poem. (As longtime unpaid poets, we know how lovely it is to have someone pay you, so we gave her $20… the top of her rate scale.) We quite like Benedith’s poem, too!

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Two poets in New York

Benedith Laure Loiseau

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Two poets in New York
running the streets
as if they lived here,
embracing the torrents
of the city.

The rhythm of madness
murmurs underneath your feet:
Each moment is a wonder;
each glance is a scene.
Right there on the highline
all the artists are thriving

There is an elegance,
a grace,
a dance worth noticing.
Make a misstep here,
and you may lose your footing.

Luckily, we have each other
and the gift that keeps on giving.
Luckily, we have the gift that keeps on.