The City That Never Sleeps
Sometimes in the depth of night,
I swear on all sacred, an apparition
soars in the lyric limbo between all
that was and what is still to be - -
There - in shining
sinuous streets
whispers a chant, a magic moment
where the spirit of nigh three thousand
gather, and catch one by the wrists - -
To bear witness
as, for an instant the gaudy, garish,
ghoulish tumble of shredded papers
spins as inchoate confetti of that bright
September morn whirling the heinous -
mystic maelstrom, each to melt into slivers
of shimmer, delicate and irrevocably shattered
as a single porcelain angel falling farther than
one hundred floors – from sparkling shimmers
rises a drawn breath exhaled in tinkled peals as
pure as a newborn infant coalesced into a collective
chorus distilled to a single singing soul –
as this apparition rises in celestial song to illuminate
the night – of the city that never sleeps–floating above
in opened armed embrace - before with a smoky sigh
filamented tender arms reach deeply into the moonlit sky
and
vanish
