City Sleeps
Posted: Fri Aug 10, 2007 2:04 am
City Sleeps
i.
shards of steepled glass
strewn across the tortured macadam
reflect the waking city,
with its manic glow,
urban diamonds in the dust
willing life into sleepless streets
through images not quite right.
See it all,
lean in and huff the living light,
before the swooning clouds
make quick work
of the disappearing mirror’s edge.
ii.
bus-stop awkward,
antsy heal-toe march
awaiting arrival–
girl in the blue
dress
waits,
purse slung shallow
over liquid shoulders,
hunched against the thick of wind
and lights,
the city’s dust catches
in her sucking lungs,
watching her wait–
the city sleeps, and I
long to touch her wilting curls
in the distance, a subterranean hum,
subway raises sleeping air
and on the street above
a blue skirt lifts,
waves, ecstatic,
and I know
we have connected,
and she–
girl in the blue
will remember
touching, waiting
iii.
the restaurant, but for us
is empty,
waiter shifts, leans into
time, waiting.
a laugh rises
from your chest,
lifts like a diamond–
the look on your face,
surprised, hand covers lips
and a ‘where did that come from’ titter.
street puddles,
a window pane away,
laugh with something other than sound,
the street lights purge their brightness
in these soaked pockets of time,
waiting for a morning sun
to evaporate them back
to air, to allow them
to rise above the city
and its dust-bowl dome.
your laughter lifts
of its own accord,
needs no sun to melt above
the living city, manic.
the rain will meet with laughter,
sometime after day-break
and wet–
we’ll be, tossing in our sleep,
remembering dreams
where elephants
brought us back
from the tortured brink.
and your laughter will
rain down upon us,
your waiting city.
i.
shards of steepled glass
strewn across the tortured macadam
reflect the waking city,
with its manic glow,
urban diamonds in the dust
willing life into sleepless streets
through images not quite right.
See it all,
lean in and huff the living light,
before the swooning clouds
make quick work
of the disappearing mirror’s edge.
ii.
bus-stop awkward,
antsy heal-toe march
awaiting arrival–
girl in the blue
dress
waits,
purse slung shallow
over liquid shoulders,
hunched against the thick of wind
and lights,
the city’s dust catches
in her sucking lungs,
watching her wait–
the city sleeps, and I
long to touch her wilting curls
in the distance, a subterranean hum,
subway raises sleeping air
and on the street above
a blue skirt lifts,
waves, ecstatic,
and I know
we have connected,
and she–
girl in the blue
will remember
touching, waiting
iii.
the restaurant, but for us
is empty,
waiter shifts, leans into
time, waiting.
a laugh rises
from your chest,
lifts like a diamond–
the look on your face,
surprised, hand covers lips
and a ‘where did that come from’ titter.
street puddles,
a window pane away,
laugh with something other than sound,
the street lights purge their brightness
in these soaked pockets of time,
waiting for a morning sun
to evaporate them back
to air, to allow them
to rise above the city
and its dust-bowl dome.
your laughter lifts
of its own accord,
needs no sun to melt above
the living city, manic.
the rain will meet with laughter,
sometime after day-break
and wet–
we’ll be, tossing in our sleep,
remembering dreams
where elephants
brought us back
from the tortured brink.
and your laughter will
rain down upon us,
your waiting city.
?? How weird... I commented on this one earlier today, too... specifically this part, and a couple other comments conjoined, as well