March 24, 2011

Late Landing

Early evening. Out the window, slender smoke ledge of cloud suspends the horizon. Above it the sky silvers into blue. Below, all is void and the grid of earth spinning below, spirals of white houses.

The city is distant
glowing rose
inside a hard clear moat. Night is drifting down from the sky. 
Who could think of sleep now? Sails open. 
Chairs are being set outside. 
Girls slip on sandals 
and shake their moist hair down to the ground.

It’s evening in New York. Wake up.