Awakening, Always. (2/9/10)

(So I guess this is a poem about more than one thing. But mostly its about the love of my life, this silly island that's not a real place that we all gallivant across and dream in. It's a simple story, in a way most stories aren't...)

There's a secret they don't tell you:
(If they did
we'd never rest.)

Here the streets are never quiet,
never still.
They never stop.

Trains are rumbling all night long,
and cabs cruise
across the park.

Despite the cold, it's never dark.
Some say waste
but I'm less dim.

I marvel at this courtesy,
am grateful
for audacity.

(2am)

I walked, in the middle of the road,
down the hill
of a parkway block.

Anyone looking wouldn't mind
I supposed,
and didn't look back.

I crossed slowly over 1st ave,
looking up
the broad one way.

To my right the arch of a bridge
loomed large,
beautifully grand.

(I almost walked the 6 blocks south
to marvel
at solid lines

streching out across the river.)
I turned north
to see green lights.

They ran in a row up the hill
screaming "GO!"
I smiled, thanked them.

By now my cheeks were flush with cold,
and my feet
just shy of sore.

I thought for a moment of your eyes,
then stepped up
from street to curb,

shook my head quickly,
forgot to keep missing you,
and under the corner streetlight glow
kept walking home, hand in hand with the city.