Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Winter Hardy

On my walk through the park,
towards the dock,
I pass them.

Succulents all fat and stout,
through the heat
waiting through the wind
waiting through winter.

There is a stillness here,
that until now
I didn’t know I was seeking.

Later at the dock,
in the wind
while the Mexican children
over the planks of wood
as the water laps below me
I sit and wait.

There are several unknown things
down there
that maybe
we are better off not knowing.

I watch the sunset over staten island
all hot white light
and burning orange
so bright I can taste it

and when it’s gone,
I turn and watch the lights wink on
and think
at this angle

Manhattan looks so tiny.
Small enough to fit
in my hand.

1 comment:

  1. It sounds like you was looking at Google maps when you made this poem) I like the place where you describe love towards your native places!)