Wednesday, March 6, 2013

The Romance of Bad Weather in New York


Weeks away from Spring, late afternoon is lighter
than it used to be: turns dusk as if the atmosphere
through which it has to suffer weren’t there –
the air, a brittle edge, a frigid slice of thinning Winter

cuts the skin – and suddenly I know this city
saves my life. Spirits in me softly climb and tumble –
seizing and releasing. The storm will soon arrive.
My city! – oh my city, oh my city! – is alive.


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