Thursday, June 14, 2012

Fog rise




Traffic flows like a steel and plastic snake
in and out of the Lincoln Tunnel tubes
Me, sitting on a rock staring down at it all
the spiked horizon with its ever erect Empire State
rising out of the mists of gray
Nothing soft in that place until the fog rolls in
swirling around it and me
rising up to its tip so that it seems to ooze with fog
The soft fabric wrapping around me and the sky line
soothing our edges with tender rhythms
the ins and outs, the heavy sighs,
all born out of an over heated water,
the river lapping at our feet, our breasts, our eyes
drowning us with its lace
until we succumb.


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