Extreme Love Poem

When the brutal blade
of New York City winter light abates –
abrades into the frigid darkness
of another January night –

there is no greater odd assemblage
of affectionate companionship
than that whose spell ignites
my heart in my Manhattan home:

the heat is generously on
and in the shadows
lavender creates a kind but
burdened-looking 1890s maiden aunt –

perhaps a murderer – who holds
a small pink-hooded being
in her arms – who gazes back
into her eyes as if to keep the embers

and surprise of seeing deeply
warm and lit, alive.
I live in the penumbral essences
of this ingloriously glorious strange

city’s history – whose blistering
exorbitances send sweet mitigations
of its ghosts to host me
through my moment

as I spin my own sins through
its tales: cruel winter in Manhattan –
to a man who loves Manhattan
as extremely as I do – avails.



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