Multitudes

[Todd]

Hi, let me give you some comments to think about.

There is a girl down the street, --While I think this could work as an opening in that you are contrasting the multitude with the one, this is still a very flat start. I know you're carrying ideas forward into the other strophes but I would sacrifice all of that for a more evocative starting point.
stepping slowly aside your passing car,
watching the gravel thrown
and the birds that scatter or stare.
She sits down to empty tables--I would consider starting here and removing everything that came before. I know--drastic. These three lines have some power to them.
and hides behind hung dresses,
they shiver with each broken --This could just be me but I'm not a fan of this break. I realize that the line break is simulating broken breath but I don't think breath thematically can hold its own line, and I think adding the pause actually comes across a bit gimmicky. All that aside, it's lovely phrasing.
breath.
 
If police lights catch your eye
will you blink? or think
of your awkward first words or
cultural divides that hide behind
every dollar stretched over continents of grief?--All of this feels overwrought. I would consider cutting it all. You also show a tendency here to do a lot of continents of grief sort of constructions (_______ of _________). I think they weaken the poem. They come across a little too much like bolt on poetic constructions. I'm probably not explaining this well but when there are too many of them in a poem they seem unearned to me.
 
I can’t help you.--This seems to be like dialog given to a homeless person (girl at empty tables) or internal thoughts
We used to gather every Sunday.
Some would stare at the stained glass
and some would step into the streets
amid passing cars and sidelined eyes.
 
Does it help to ask for whom?
 
I reshare numbers that bury me
in intersectionality pressed useless.
I sit at my empty table and gulp
down the reams of fear, obligation, guilt--Reams of Fear...
while remembering the light in the fog--Nice break here. I'm not sure I like the first half of this strophe But I like this line to the end.
of my childhood was a held hand,
with a quiet eye that said you are
welcome here, come back.
 
I sigh and stare.
Where are my feet? or where
are the flashing lights that cut
through galaxies of thought  _____of__________
or minutiae
or malice
to find me
or you
or compassionate and clinical allocation
of hands held?
 
It’s no comfort but
physics, maybe
we all know the billions
less than one.--I like this ending but it feels like I haven't attached any emotional significance to the one enough to make this pay off for me.

I hope some of the comments help on revision.

Best,

Todd