62 Readings | 0 Ratings


But now we only visit

the World Trade Center


when we’re not in New York,

each of us younger


than the fingers

on our pink, callous-less hands.




This morning the day’s lips

are warmly puckered


and I love the morning

deep blue slowly


differentiating itself

from the gold’s sun.


The world is beautiful

and filled with shapes,


shapes existing into still

more shapes. 


Paralleled only by a shiver of moon

halfway across the world,


its pale reflected

in a beer bottle standing guard


at the edge of a curb, waiting to be recycled,

New York’s brightness today


is positively light, positively


bright. You can’t go

home again, it’s true.


Exclaiming and laughing

in the park, taking a cab 


downtown, you can’t 

go home.



Posted 12/18/17
Comments (0)
Would you like to leave a comment on this profile? Join Ink Node for a free account, or sign in if you are already a member.