a soft sun.
quiet sundays, a semicolon to summer.
Grand Central Station.
Vibrating today with bagpipes and straight backs and a history forgotten.
There are tears at the edges of my eyes i did not put there.
I am grateful to be on a train today.
Grateful to have heard the music, the complicated instrument.
At the edge of Williamsburg, where development meets empty and water.
The city always looks the flattest flat from this angle.
Sunny out, wet underfoot.
Looking for perspective.
And answers that will never arrive.
New York is so undeniably itself under grey skies.
Barely perceptible tree buds quietly.
Brick cleaned by rain.
A whispered vibrancy .even in darkness.
the air felt like sea air today.
horizon line promising.
hands waving at the dock.
fog mist soft wet wool.
today is watery melancholy spring
silk bias cut quilted sky
Neither gray nor blue. .both
besotted by spring.
First there was a string.
Then there was a knot.
Vanilla is the muse of chocolate.
Today Brooklyn is Oakland.
Quiet. Desolate. Grey. Vast.
New Jersey lights.
A soft and mercurial Hudson River.
Black dock pylons, broken rows, water eaten wood.
Gulls kibbutzing screaming interrupting.
Eyes refocus:one white bird sits neatly on each black line, like a matchstick.
Water towers silhouette.
Houston street and all its traffic lights.
Shiny kitchen equipment.
new york city winter 2009 - spring 2010