preston noon        

New Amsterdam:2005

NEW YORK CITY

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(This is a photo from SilverCup Studios, which has the largest private green roof in the city)

 

Running through the forest, my foot slipped to a root, falling fast.Trees, were not trees, but faces. The bark, not bark, but skin, and leaves not hair, but people.Swimming in the current. I bounced between rock and shore, not sure, but a street, rocks not rocks, but cars.

I was in the city.

September 2005

The blur slides to focus, then to a zoom. I have waited so long to be here. The Anticipation Station where
All the trains are late, and sometimes aren’t local I board the one that says              Arrivals

Mind the gap

On shoulders yet ready, the weight of the world. My wings spread for the cause of survival. Feeling the sky, the air, the light; feeling the concrete passage of time, yields an echo. Seconds to the bump-bump of seams from a car. Big steps on the sidewalk reaching forward. So deeply have the waters in my soul been stirred. From the white cloud in black coffee and the Stratus of summer skies, to a tide coming, infilling the pools with crashing waves. The long dormant seed is watered. Roots spring into fresh soil, reaching out, as the apical maristem shoots skyward. April showers late, sprout to a tree, leaves unfurl then rustle and grow, see? Then smile.The silent strings sing to now a tune. Sound lifting high rafters as the chandeliers shutter. This Time is my here and now, today is my It. Script fit as I drifted and I wrote it down. Sometimes I remember to breathe.

Sound

Contrast sharp as razors, from then to now. Slowly I set my pace. Slowly I join the race. Was I chasing rabbits, am I still? Is it a wheel or a course? Am I still late, or am I right on time. Onto a new stage, a new page.

This is the beginning and there is no end.

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