the granite fence of New York Library, exotic
and home foods in autumn trade,
The sun insistent by its weakness
as your servant here, stalking the footlights
of the city play perpetually, at least
Until the work, the vision of the fall give in.
Winter crouches in wait mode, the heart prepared
for its white sleep, her snow shroud terminal
you see before it strikes too late. So meet me here, midday
Defy the crowds and seasons passing by
Before the shadows do their work, and sunlight
runs to hide. Like Time Square balladeers, pick-
pocketeers, we’ll snatch a cent
a scented kiss from sentences away
Taunting the hard and heavy march of day.
*****
Click here for more poems by Richard Morgan
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