The nouveau leaves of trees brushing against each other like the long grey tails of coats of unknown people,
On East 42nd,
On a cold, bustling Monday morning in Manhattan,
Rushing to get to where they’ve got to get to,
Before the getting’s gone,

Memories wrestled out on a Sunday afternoon
By dancing, bouncing patterns of light on closed eyelids,
Bliss of golden yellows reminiscent of a kiss, held in a painting hanging somewhere, between The Neue and a museum in Vienna,

Now and again breaking between the pages of a book,
Aloft in a dreamy state of being,
A Soul drifting in the space between:
remembering and forgetting
and want of escape,
On the wings of a jet plane powered only
by the lambent lust that remains of this golden afternoon.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, May, 2017

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