I dream that I sleep on the broad-bowed ferry, drunk on the wide wood benches, hunched in my long-ago camelhair greatcoat, dreaming that my body has aged. I dream that I wake and dusk is settling down, and I am still young, my skin unlined, my hair dark, and everyone I love is still alive. Down the narrow stairway to the rain-slick deck, my lips wet and salty, perhaps from the sea-spray; the winds of the Upper Bay set the barrier chains swinging, up forward where two lovers cling to each other, his head bent, her face upturned. Beyond the prow, plowing toward us over the harbor swell, shouldering up through the deepening blue-gray gloom, Manhattan kindles into blazing intricate splendor as all the lights come on for the night in the massive towers, a vision at once brutal and fey, a sight to stun the heart into happiness, if the rattle of the rain on the chop, the swashing bellow as the engines reverse to brake, did not sound so much like someone sobbing in his sleep —from “Aging,” in the collection Iron Rose: New York Poems https://createspace/3462208
Posted on: Wed, 28 Aug 2013 21:41:20 +0000
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