41 Readings | 0 Ratings

9/14/13

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
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