The road from here to there
Is filled with woe,
Cold miles of early morning
Caught in a harried pre-dawn dash
To keep from disaster,
Warm weather evaporating like mist
As February flexes it muscles
And drags back brutal air
My hands aching despite my gloves
The unnatural feel of leather
Against the steering wheel I hold
Car headlights blinking through trees
As I see once more the distant shape
Of the New York
Skyline
Limbs to either side of me,
Bent and bare like masts
Of sail boats in the harbor
Across the Hudson
from where
Once stood,
I ache for the smell of the sea
After so many days smelling mountains
I hear the imaginary echo
Of seagulls crying in their winter despair
Birds like me who cling here
When the more sensible among us
Fly south for these brutal months
And like me, the birds
Rise and fall with winter winds
Taking a peek at the distant sun
Over the mountain peaks
Boat masts and skyscrapers
But not warmed by the sights
Needing something more
To warm our fingers on.
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