driving through

new york,

cities-

where there is

plenty

plenty

of spaces

and then again,

none

are found,

and through every street

i see signs

many signs

many directions to other streets

and avenues

and boroughs

yet none point me to where time isn’t borrowed-

where air is clean and crisp

and

space is vast

and open-

but not just the space,

the soul-

the spirit and life

are

open

arms

to me,

and

for me,

but still i look to find

hands ajar,

like an oyster

drudged up from the atlantic

with its doors cracked open

and when i pry into them

i look to see a

pearl,

but

find only

a stone,

and that

is the only soul i see-

that is the life:

saturating all space

and city

so there is nothing left to do,

but

stand

on the

bridge

over the hudson river

and watch the gray water ebb below me.