The Birth of the World

waking up to birdsong and sunlight in the air,

as you bathe with summer in your hair.

illuminate the rooftops with effervescent tides,

as we dream of pastoral countrysides.

we stand on the platform, enraptured, hand in hand,

then peruse the poetry in the Strand.

we wander the MoMA exhibiting Miró:

The Birth of the World, as time begins to flow.

we’ll drink in Prospect all afternoon,

observing moments:

your head on my shoulder,

the glittering crowds and shimmering clouds,

the lives that we lead,

and the lives that we love.

let go of your worldly inhibitions.

watch them spill and shatter on the sidewalk.

timelines scattered all around in bedroom visions.

fall asleep; the cycle will begin again.

we’ll float through train cars and disappear.

the city watches with impartial pretense.

its drunken embrace will soon reclaim us,

the lives that we lead,

and the lives that we love.