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Reflections on a view from a New York tenement window, seen on social media

New York Stanza The night is dark and wet, street lights Have no purchase on the empty street beneath; Only the soft glow from the tenement windows Gives form and perspective to my view. From a half open window across the street, A soprano voice pierces the misty gloom: Callas and Casta Diva, the imploring Words quickly absorbed in the damp air. There is a sudden roar and squeal of tyres As a sedan erupts from the kerbside, and Speeds around the nearest corner. Then, All falls silent, a muffled absence of sound Save my own breathing, as though the Earth pauses and waits. The moist night air perceptibly thickens, And the view from my window becomes A landscape in oils; each window framed In a soft halo of yellow light. My thoughts Wander along familiar paths, worn deep Over many moments of introspection. Always they return to you, footsteps in time, Down the long tunnel of our knowing. And Thought leads on to thought, the familiar Doubts the deepest ruts in a meandering Course through life. Melbourne Stanza The air is warm, pastel sunset shades and The trees in bold silhouette; the wide street Echoes to the rumble of the trams, and the few Walkers swing past in smiles. There is a burst of French then quiet, and I am lost in my thoughts. The evening spent at the kitchen bar made Paella twice as interesting, seeing it made and The technique, so different to risotto, enlightening. But as I walk up the street, the visceral urge to Care for someone, to love and be loved in return, Fills me and again I think of you. Now my thoughts Turn to escape, to an ending of the longing, to The end of hope. Yet… The supplication to a Goddess bears fruit, but In mysterious ways, and you hide messages Of hope, in pleas for help, that I doubt – But hope are true. Time passes and the Rhythms of conversation endure, inexplicably. My doubts intrude: is this just a call for help? My professional advice, a non-fiducial consult, That I willingly give? And yet, and yet: idle gossip, teasing jibes, the Essence of friendship, or of intimacy, come; Random messages that you think of me. Yet still I doubt, and want more – than you can give?

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020




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