From The Streets To The Hudson

Scurrying tourists with bonfire eyes fixed on wedge-shaped skyscrapers faces punctuated by grins wider than the horizon I see them across the avenue muse upon tower tops piercing the blue hollow turning heads and spooning smiles This is a place where contrasts reflect off asphalt ribbons, where pigeons pivot while their wings shed silver-gray tumult Where straphangers squeeze into metal cars at Eighty Sixth and Broadway scents of mingled perfume and scorched brake pads fill the subterranean stretch Here where millions come as night spills over the Hudson and the moon rests in roof top gardens here, dreams are born in quiet depths and this river lies ever at your feet