Smoke curls around my thoughts

that drift

The air is filled with things today.

With smells and the absence of smells,

Scents that wish they were something else.

Thoughts that want to be realities.

Smoke of realities cast aflame

Dreams young and old

Passing through – some just passing through.

With the diversity of a city like New York—

Some faces set in wrinkles, in time.

The burdens of their lives embraced with nothing less than anguished despair.

And there are young faces

Wide-eyed and mouthed, changing faces.

So much not known that there are blank spaces

All around them—clear windows in their eyes.

And there are women and men

With stained glass hearts-

This love and that love—through  misted pathways rise

and fall

Chase each other, lose them all

To search until they can’t search

any more.

Their eyes like ghosts in timid light,

catching each other for one naked moment,

seized with fear before any new freedoms can be,

and fading back into black.

These things dance in my room.

The world is full of dreams like subway drifters,

All alike and infinitely separated

by what they think is everything—

Their hearts, their minds, their souls—

When really

it is only

air.

Copyright 1998. All Rights Reserved.

Photo by Grant Gannon

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