I don't belong here, but I wish I did. The water thrashing in a dozen dangerous directions. The breeze: Invisible, crazy, sweet caresses. I don't know the lights, the landmarks; life Inside the rivers, more alive than life elsewhere; Twenty-four hours expressed, longer, louder, better. I yearn across the water to dakota lights. In the name I live the long agos, Feel the city in my veins and leave it in the rear-view window, On the bridge the traffic shuts behind me like a gate. Manhattan Visit by Judy Schilling |