Dancing With the Plague

A nurse takes time To hang a DNA rainbow strain Of Christmas bulbs Along my gray window ledge He plugged them in Bringing a campfire glow of embers Under my lids And to the shirking corners And the inflating machines shushing the room Below In the cobblestone valley of downtown Ballerinas of steam Spin From paper-pushed vents in the empty streets Window shopping on Washington Square Laces of faces and hands Pressed to glass Longing for suits at Kositcheks Or gold and silver from Linn & Owen Mists jaywalking And flagging a cold evening of vacated taxis I dream Of taking my wife’s hand Pirouetting her across a crowded floor At the Green Door To a band bellowing the flutes of Canned Heat Flinging sweat again like bathers in an ocean Kissing and hugging and ass grabbing Elbows bent with Fireball shots High-fiving Imploring return to our basic instinct The perfect gift Of lust and love marked by our fingerprints.