Thinking of New York

Like regret and a lovers ghost, the city stays with you.

Manhattan was once called the green beast of the continent. One stroll through Central Park offers indelible traces of the Eden which once existed, now enveloped by skyscrapers. They stand tall, like young boys having their heights measured, and straining for supremacy they pierce the swirling air. Unseen tunnels beneath the urban streets, black twisted arteries pulsing with submerged life, connect the compactly scattered island. Sawdust footprints and spokes of sunlight rest on street corners, still as stones. Night bleeds into day, resolute purples swirl into razorblade reds, the heavy air frothy like pink soda water. Trees and skyscrapers, contrasting miracles of unseen hands, stand with breath held, as human affairs play themselves out below.